Part 15 (1/2)

”YU' DON'T SAY!”

”There used to be all the ducks you wanted at the Laparel, but their fool cook's dead stuck on raising turkeys this year.”

”That must have been mighty close to a drowndin' the schoolmarm got at South Fork.”

”Why, I guess not. When? She's never spoken of any such thing--that I've heard.”

”Mos' likely the stage-driver got it wrong, then.”

”Yes. Must have drownded somebody else. Here they come! That's her ridin' the horse. There's the Westfalls. Where are you running to?”

”To fix up. Got any soap around hyeh?”

”Yes,” shouted Swinton, for the Virginian was now some distance away; ”towels and everything in the dugout.” And he went to welcome his first formal guests.

The Virginian reached his saddle under a shed. ”So she's never mentioned it,” said he, untying his slicker for the trousers and scarf. ”I didn't notice Lin anywheres around her.” He was over in the dugout now, whipping off his overalls; and soon he was excellently clean and ready, except for the tie in his scarf and the part in his hair. ”I'd have knowed her in Greenland,” he remarked. He held the candle up and down at the looking-gla.s.s, and the looking-gla.s.s up and down at his head. ”It's mighty strange why she ain't mentioned that.” He worried the scarf a fold or two further, and at length, a trifle more than satisfied with his appearance, he proceeded most serenely toward the sound of the tuning fiddles. He pa.s.sed through the store-room behind the kitchen, stepping lightly lest he should rouse the ten or twelve babies that lay on the table or beneath it. On Bear Creek babies and children always went with their parents to a dance, because nurses were unknown. So little Alfred and Christopher lay there among the wraps, parallel and crosswise with little Taylors, and little Carmodys, and Lees, and all the Bear Creek offspring that was not yet able to skip at large and hamper its indulgent elders in the ball-room.

”Why, Lin ain't hyeh yet!” said the Virginian, looking in upon the people. There was Miss Wood, standing up for the quadrille. ”I didn't remember her hair was that pretty,” said he. ”But ain't she a little, little girl!”

Now she was in truth five feet three; but then he could look away down on the top of her head.

”Salute your honey!” called the first fiddler. All partners bowed to each other, and as she turned, Miss Wood saw the man in the doorway.

Again, as it had been at South Fork that day, his eyes dropped from hers, and she divining instantly why he had come after half a year, thought of the handkerchief and of that scream of hers in the river, and became filled with tyranny and antic.i.p.ation; for indeed he was fine to look upon. So she danced away, carefully unaware of his existence.

”First lady, centre!” said her partner, reminding her of her turn. ”Have you forgotten how it goes since last time?”

Molly Wood did not forget again, but quadrilled with the most sprightly devotion.

”I see some new faces to-night,” said she, presently.

”Yu' always do forget our poor faces,” said her partner.

”Oh, no! There's a stranger now. Who is that black man?”

”Well--he's from Virginia, and he ain't allowin' he's black.”

”He's a tenderfoot, I suppose?”

”Ha, ha, ha! That's rich, too!” and so the simple partner explained a great deal about the Virginian to Molly Wood. At the end of the set she saw the man by the door take a step in her direction.

”Oh,” said she, quickly, to the partner, ”how warm it is! I must see how those babies are doing.” And she pa.s.sed the Virginian in a breeze of unconcern.

His eyes gravely lingered where she had gone. ”She knowed me right away,” said he. He looked for a moment, then leaned against the door.

”'How warm it is!' said she. Well, it ain't so screechin' hot hyeh; and as for rus.h.i.+n' after Alfred and Christopher, when their natural motheh is b.u.mpin' around handy--she cert'nly can't be offended?” he broke off, and looked again where she had gone. And then Miss Wood pa.s.sed him brightly again, and was dancing the schottische almost immediately.

”Oh, yes, she knows me,” the swarthy cow-puncher mused. ”She has to take trouble not to see me. And what she's a-fussin' at is mighty interestin'. h.e.l.lo!”

”h.e.l.lo!” returned Lin McLean, sourly. He had just looked into the kitchen.