m to the barn. Nora was now milking the old brindle cow, and her father was inside the barn putting feed into the trough for the stock.
"Peers ye air mighty late git'n' yer milkin' done," said Tom. "What's ther matter of ye?"
He tapped the girl upon the head with the finger end of his glove, and he tapped her again because she made no immediate reply.
"Reckon I hain't no later git'n' hit done than ye are a git'n' home, seein' as how I'm most done now," she replied.
"Milkin' a cow hain't nuthin' like takin' a day fer to ride over the country a givin' warnin's."
"What ye warnin' 'bout now, Tom?" she asked, with much interest.
"Go 'long, gal. Ye ain't been raised in this country fer nothin'! Ye know what I've been warnin' 'bout well 'nough, 'thout axin' me. They's a-goin' ter be hell raised in this country to-night. That's what I've been warnin' 'bout. Now do ye know, durn ye!"
"I reckon I do. Who's a-goin' ter git it this time?"
"Aw, ye want to know too mu