“My Bonnie-e-e lies over th’ ocean. My Bonnie-e-e lies over th’ sea. My Bonnie-e-e lies o-ver th’----” wailed Chuck Warner in a minor key, turning his long nose toward the blue sky, and keeping a silent accompaniment to his vocal gyrations by wiggling his ears. “Here,” interrupted the postmaster of Curlew, handing Chuck a letter. “When yuh gits over feelin’ so bad yuh might put this in yore pocket and hand it to Johnny Myers as yuh rides past th’ Triangle ranch.”…
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