In the afternoon we drove through Refugio, and at night camped six miles from the town, near Willow Creek. This stream had just been supplied with a brand new bridge, and bridges are dispensed sparingly in this part of the State. About 10 o'clock in the evening and just as we were about to close our eyes for the night, a team drove up to the creek. The driver had evidently never seen a bridge before. "Whoa dar; what de world am dis yere! Some cussid fool been done gone an' buil' er house right in de middle ob de road; nuffin done yit but de floo'. Good mind t' dribe right ober de plaguy thing. Hulloo dar! Who own dis house!" "I own that house," shouted Mr. Priour, springing to his feet and rushing out to the bridge, "and I'm going to put a roof on it to-morrow. What do you want here anyway?"
"I done wan' a git crost dis yere kreak. Wha' fo' yer buil* a house on dis yere kreak?" "I want it so I can lay abed and fish through a hole in the floor. " "He-you! I neber heerd tell ob dat style afore. But I wan' a git crost, I done wan' a go de Mission. " "If you want to get across you'll have to drive through the water down below here. " "Good golly! Dis de wors' piece ob business I done seen yit; but I doan care, my horse done go fru dis water afore. " After the man had driven through the stream a few yards below the new "house," Mr. Priour came back to his bed and went to sleep.
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