Part 36 (1/2)

”Thank 'ee, Jackson, but I'll not part wi' Black Polly till I've delivered her to her owner. I won't accept your invite to stop here three or four days, but neither will I start off to-night. I've too much regard for the good mare to do that.”

”Ho! ho!” thought his host, with an inward chuckle, ”it's not so much the mare as Mary that you've a regard for, my young sailor!”

But in spite of his name the man was much too polite to express this opinion aloud. He merely said, ”Well, d.i.c.k, you know that you're welcome to squat here as long or as short a time as you like, an' use the best o' my horses, if so disposed, or do the postboy business on Black Polly. Do as ye like wi' me an' mine, boy, for it's only fair to say that but for your help this day my Mary an' me would have bin done for.”

They reached the stable as he was speaking, and Jackson at once turned the conversation on the horses, thus preventing a reply from d.i.c.k--in regard to which the latter was not sorry.

In the stall the form of Black Polly looked grander than ever, for her head nearly touched the roof as she raised it and turned a gleaming eye on the visitors, at the same time uttering a slight whinny of expectation.

”Why, I do believe she has transferred her affections to you, d.i.c.k,”

said Jackson. ”I never heard her do that before except to Hunky Ben, and she's bin many a time in that stall.”

”More likely that she expected Ben had come to bid her good-night,”

returned the sailor.

But the way in which the beautiful creature received d.i.c.k's caresses induced Jackson to hold to his opinion. It is more probable, however, that some similarity of disposition between d.i.c.k Darvall and Hunky Ben had commended itself to the mare, which was, as much as many a human being, of an amiable, loving disposition. She thoroughly appreciated the tenderness and forbearance of her master, and, more recently, of d.i.c.k. No doubt the somewhat rough way in which she had been thrown to the ground that day may have astonished her, but it evidently had not soured her temper.

That night d.i.c.k did not see much of Mary. She was far too busy attending to, and providing for, the numerous guests at the ranch to be able to give individual attention to any one in particular--even had she been so disposed.

b.u.t.tercup of course lent able a.s.sistance to her mistress in these domestic duties, and, despite her own juvenility--we might perhaps say, in consequence of it--gave Mary much valuable advice.

”Dat man's in a bad way,” said she, as, with her huge lips pouting earnestly, she examined the contents of a big pot on the fire. The black maiden's lips were so p.r.o.nounced and expressive that they might almost be said to const.i.tute her face!

”What man?” asked Mary, who, with her sleeves tucked up to the elbows, was manipulating certain proportions of flour, water, and b.u.t.ter.

”Why, d.i.c.k, oh course. He's de only man wuth speakin' about.”

Mary blushed a little in spite of herself, and laughed hilariously as she replied--

”Dear me, b.u.t.ter, I didn't think he had made such a deep impression on you.”

”'S not on'y on me he's made a 'mpress'n,” returned the maid, carelessly. ”He makes de same 'mpress'n on eberybody.”

”How d'you know?” asked Mary.

”'Cause I see,” answered the maid.

She turned her eyes on her mistress as she spoke, and immediately a transformation scene was presented. The eyes dwindled into slits as the cheeks rose, and the serious pout became a smile so magnificent that ivory teeth and scarlet gums set in ebony alone met the gaze of the beholder.

”b.u.t.tercup,” exclaimed Mary, stamping her little foot firmly, ”it's boiling over!”

She was right. Teeth and gums vanished. The eyes returned, so did the pout, and the pot was whipped off the fire in a twinkling, but not before a mighty hiss was heard and the head of the black maiden was involved in a cloud of steam and ashes!

”I told you so!” cried Mary, quoting from an ancient Ma.n.u.script.

”No, you di'n't,” retorted her servitor, speaking from the depths of her own consciousness.

We refrain from following the conversation beyond this point, as it became culinary and flat.

Next day d.i.c.k Darvall, refreshed--and, owing to some quite inexplicable influences, enlivened--mounted Black Polly and started off alone for Traitor's Trap, leaving his heart and a reputation for cool pluck behind him.