Part 61 (1/2)
”You're an awful bluff, Tom,” she accused him. ”Really, I believe you're bashful with girls. I never suspected it before.”
”It's just want of practice,” grinned McHale. ”Some day when I have time I'm going out to get me a girl like you. There was one down at----”
But Clyde's appearance interrupted McHale's reminiscences. She and Sheila, arms about each other, strolled away to exchange confidences.
Casey and Farwell followed.
”We ain't in it,” said McHale.
”Well, who wants to be?” said Sandy.
”A few weeks ago,” McHale mused, ”them two girls warmed up to each other about as much as two wet sticks of wood; and them two sports would have locked horns at the bat of an eye. Look at 'em now! What done it?”
”Does your arm hurt you much?” Sandy asked.
”Sortin' out the hand done it,” McHale continued, unheeding. ”Each girl finds out that the other ain't organizin' to be hostile. And the men find out that they're playin' different systems; likewise, that each has a good point or two.”
”She sure must have been a hard trip for you down from the hills,”
Sandy commented, with much sarcasm.
”Love,” said McHale sentimentally, ”is a durn funny thing.”
Sandy's disgusted comment consisted of but one word not usually a.s.sociated with the tender pa.s.sion. ”Well, may be--sometimes,” McHale admitted.
It was a merry party that sat down to the best supper Feng could prepare on short notice. Wade was in great form. He outdid himself, keeping up a rapid fire of jokes and conversation. The sheriff, infected by his example, uncovered a vein of unsuspected humour.
McHale, who referred to himself as ”a temp'rary southpaw,” contributed his quota. Sandy was silent and dour, as usual. Jim Hess said little, but he beamed on everybody, enjoying their happiness.
When Sheila insisted that she must go, Casey saddled Dolly for Clyde and s.h.i.+ner for himself. He rode with Sheila, temporarily relinquis.h.i.+ng Clyde to Farwell. A couple of hundred yards behind the others, just free of their dust, they jogged easily side by side.
”Our rides together are about over, Casey,” she said, with a little sigh.
”How is that?”
”You know as well as I do. The blessed proprieties are b.u.t.ting in here nowadays; and, besides, we both belong to other people. d.i.c.k wants to be married soon. Of course, I'll have to go where he goes. Thank goodness, he hasn't got any people to be my people, and to pa.s.s judgment on me.”
”I'll be sorry to lose you, Sheila; and I think you'll be sorry to go.”
”Yes. I'll miss the rolling country, and the hills to the west, and the long days outdoors. Oh, heavens, how I'll miss them! And yet it's worth while, Casey!”
”I'm awfully glad, for your sake, that you think so much of him, old girl. He's a fine chap--when you get to know him. But I'll miss you.
How long is it since we had our first ride together?”
”Seven years--no, eight. I was riding a bad pinto. Dad traded him afterward. You wouldn't let me go home alone. Remember?”
”Of course. Awful brute for a girl to ride!”
”He never set me afoot,” she said proudly. ”But you'll be leaving here, too, Casey.”
”I don't think so.”