There's a whole lot about that
business I don't get next to. I guess Bannister is at the head of
them. Everybody seems agreed about that. But the whole thing is a
tangle of contradiction to me. I've milled it over a heap in my
mind, too."
"What are some of the contradictions?"
"Well, here's one right off the bat, as we used to say back in
the States. Bannister is a great musician, they claim; fine
singer, and all that. Now I happen to know he can't sing any more
than a bellowing yearling."
"How do you know?" she asked, her eyes shining with interest.
"Because I heard him try it. 'Twas one day last summer when I was
out cutting trail of a bunch of strays down by Dead Cow Creek.
The day was hot, and I lay down behind a cottonwood and dropped
off to sleep. When I awakened it didn't take me longer'n an hour
to discover what had woke me. Somebody on the other side of the
creek was trying to sing. It was ce'tainly the limit. Pretty soon
he come out of the brush and I seen it was Bannister."
"You're sure it was Bannister?"
"If seeing is believing, I'm sure."
"And was his singing really so bad?"
"I'd hate ever to hear worse."
"Was he singing when you saw him?"
"No, he'd just quit.
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