Part 1 (2/2)
”Pas.h.i.+nt! Me, pas.h.i.+nt! Sure Job was a complainin' mill-wheel beside me, Sherm Bidwell. Me boarders have shrunk to five and you're one o' the five--and here you are after another grub-stake to go picnicking into the mountains wid. I know your smooth tongue--sure I do--but ye're up against me determination this toime, me prince. Ye don't get a pound o'
meat nor a measure o' flour from Maggie Delaney--”
Bidwell sat with an air of resigned Christian fort.i.tude while the widow delivered herself. To tell the truth, he had listened to these precise words before--and resented them only because spoken publicly.
The other boarders finished their supper in silence and went out, but Bidwell lingered to wheedle the mistress while she ate her own fill at the splotched and littered table. The kerosene-lamp stood close to her plate and brought out the glow of her cheek and deepened the blue of her eyes into violet. She was still on the right side of forty and well cared for.
Bidwell shot a shy glance at her. ”I like to stir you up, Maggie darlin'; it makes you purty as a girl.”
She caught up a loaf of bread and heaved it at him. He caught it deftly and inquired, guilelessly: ”Is this the first of my grub-stake, la.s.sie?”
”It is _not!_ 'Tis the last crumb ye'll have of me. Out wid ye!
Grub-stake indade! You go out this night, me bucko!”
Bidwell rose in pretended fright and shuffled to the door. ”I don't need much--a couple o' sacks o' flour--”
She lifted an arm. ”You tramp!”
He slammed the door just in time to prevent a cup from flying straight into his smiling eyes. After a moment of silent laughter, and with a wink at the men in the ”office,” he reopened the door and said:
”Ye're a warm-hearted, handsome girl, Maggie. Two strips o' bacon--”
A m.u.f.fled cry and a crash caused him to again slam the door and withdraw.
Coming back to the middle of the room, he took out his pipe and began to fill it. One of the younger men said:
”You'll get that grub-stake over the eye; the widdy is dangerous to-night.”
Sherm seemed not much concerned. Having fired his pipe, he took a piece of rock from his pocket. ”What do you think o' this?” he inquired, casually.
The other examined it eagerly, and broke out: ”Jee--cripes! Why, say!
that's jest _rotten_ with gold. Where'd you find it?”
”Out in the hills,” was the placid reply; ”a new vein--high up.”
The third man took the rock and said: ”That vein has got to be low down--that can't come from high up. We're on the wrong trail. Think o'
Cripple Creek--mine's right under the gra.s.s on the hills. Yer can't fool me.”
”But we know the veins are high--we've seen 'em,” argued the other men.
”Yes--but they're different veins. This rock comes from lower down.”
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