I'se 'sociated wid quality white folks befo'." "But, Neb, she's a singer in dance halls." "I don't believe it, Massa Jack." "Well, I wouldn't if I could help it.

She don't seem like that kind, but I recognized her as soon as I got her face in the light.

She was at the Gaiety in Independence, the last time I was there.

Hawley knew her too, and called her by name." Neb rubbed his eyes, and slapped his pony's flank, unable to answer, yet still unconvinced.
"I reck'n both ob yer might be mistook," he insisted doggedly.
"Not likely," and Keith's brief laugh was not altogether devoid of bitterness.

"We both called her Christie Maclaire, and she didn't even deny the name; she was evidently not proud of it, but there was no denial that she was the girl." "Dat wasn't like no name dat you called her when we was ridin'." "No; she didn't approve of the other, and told me to call her Hope, but I reckon she's Christie Maclaire all right." They rode on through the black, silent night as rapidly as their tired horses would consent to travel.