He returned Auntie Sue's greeting
heartily, and, with one of his companions,--a quiet, business-looking
gentleman,--accepted her cordial invitation to come in. The third man of
the party remained near the saddle-horses at the gate.
"Well, Auntie Sue," said the Sheriff, settling his ponderous bulk in one
of the old lady's rocking-chairs, which certainly was not built to carry
such a weight, "how are you? I haven't seen you in a coon's age. I'll
swear, though, you ain't a minute older than you was when you first
begun teachin' the little Elbow Rock school up there on the hill, are
you?"
"I don't know, Sheriff," Auntie Sue returned, with a nervous little
laugh. "I sometimes think that I am a few days older. I have watched a
good many sunsets since then, you know."
The big officer's laughter almost shook the log walls of the house. To
his quiet companion, who had taken a chair near the window, he said:
"I'll have to tell you, Ross, that Auntie Sue owns every sunset in these
Ozark Mountains. What was it you paid for them?" He turned again to
their smiling hostess. "Oh, yes; fifty cents an acre for the land and
fourteen dollars and a half for the sunsets. You'll have to be blamed
careful not to trespass on the sunsets in this neighborhood, Ross."
Again, his hearty laugh roared out, while his chair threatened to
collapse with the quaking of his massive body.
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