"Yes," said Eddring, "it certainly did seem that when we built this road every cow and every nigger, not to mention a lot of white folks, made a bee-line straight for our right-of-way. Why, sir, it was a solid line of cows and niggers from Memphis to New Orleans. How could you blame an engineer if he run into something once in a while? He couldn't _help_ it." "Yes. Now, do you know what this claim settler, this claim agent man did? Why, he paid a man down below here two stations--what do you _think_ he paid him for as fine a heifer as ever eat cane? Why, fifteen dollars!" "Fifteen dollars!" "Yes, fifteen dollars." "That looks like a heap of money for a heifer, doesn't it, Colonel Blount?" "A heap of money? Why, no. Heap of _money_? Why, what you mean?" "Heifers didn't bring that before the road came through. Why, you would have had to drive that heifer twenty-five miles before you could get a market, and then she wouldn't have brought over twelve dollars. Now, fifteen dollars, seems to me, is about right." "Well, let the heifer go. But there was a cow killed three miles below here the other day. Neighbors of mine. I reckon that claim agent wouldn't want to allow any more than fifteen dollars for Jim Bowles' cow, neither." "Maybe not." "Well, never mind about the cow, either; but look here. A nigger lost his wife down there, killed by these steam cars--looks like the niggers get fascinated by them cars. But here's Bill coming at last. Now, Mr. Eddring, we'll just make a little julep. Tell me, how do you make a julep, sir?" Eddring hitched a little nearer on the board-pile. "Well, Colonel Blount," said he, "in our family we used to have an old silver mug-- sort of plain mug, you know, few flowers around the edge of it--been in the family for years. Now, you take a mug like that, and let it lie in the ice-box all the time, and when you take it out, it's sort of got a white frost all over it. Now, my old daddy, he would take this mug and put some fine ice into it,--not too fine. Then he'd take a little cut loaf sugar, in another glass, and he'd mash it up in a little water--not too much water--then he'd pour that in over the ice. Then he would pour some good corn whisky in till all the interstices of that ice were filled plumb up; then he'd put some mint--" "Didn't smash the mint? Say, he didn't smash the mint, did he?" said Colonel Blount, eagerly, hitching over toward the speaker. "Smash it? I should say not, sir! Sometimes, at certain seasons of the mint, he might just sort of take a twist at the leaf, to sort of release a little of the flavor, you know. You don't want to be rough with mint. Just twist it gently between the thumb and finger. Then you set it in nicely around the edge of the glass. Sometimes just a little powder of fine sugar around on top of the mint leaves, and then--" "Sir," said Colonel Blount, gravely rising and taking off his hat, "you are welcome to my home!"