"I expect it is because there isn't anything else to do.

But you really are entertaining!" she declared, for a parting shot.
Once Ferguson had seen a band of traveling minstrels in Cimarron.
Their jokes (of an ancient vintage) had taken well with the audience, for the latter had laughed.

Ferguson remembered that a stranger had said that the minstrels were "entertaining." And now he was entertaining her.

A shadow passed over his face; he looked down at his foot, with its white bandage so much in evidence.

Then straight at her, his eyes grave and steady.
"I'm glad to have amused you, ma'am," he said.