She would sit there in the gathering twilight and fasten her steadfast eyes on a mosquito rooting into her arm, and slowly she would raise her other hand till she had got his range, and then she would launch a slap at him that would have jolted a cow; and after that she would sit and contemplate the corpse with tranquil satisfaction--for she never missed her mosquito; she was a dead shot at short range.

She never removed a carcase, but left them there for bait.

I sat by this grim Sphynx and watched her kill thirty or forty mosquitoes--watched her, and waited for her to say something, but she never did.

So I finally opened the conversation myself.

I said: "The mosquitoes are pretty bad, about here, madam." "You bet!" "What did I understand you to say, madam ?" "You BET!" Then she cheered up, and faced around and said: "Danged if I didn't begin to think you fellers was deef and dumb.