Part 15 (1/2)

”Weel,” she said, ”ye look quiet, anyway.” She added, as if further satisfied, ”I'll make ye a cup of tea if ye can wait.”

Sproatly a.s.sured her that they had not time to accept her hospitality.

The girl went into the house for a few moments and returned to the wagon with relief in her face.

”I think I owe Mr. Wyllard a good deal,” she said.

Sproatly laughed. ”You're not exactly unusual in that respect,” he declared as he started the horses. ”But you had better hold tight. These beasts are less than half broken.”

He flicked the horses with the whip, and they went across the track at a gallop, hurling great clods of mud left and right, while the group of loungers who still stood about the station raised a shout.

”Got any little pictures with nice motters on them?” asked one, and another flung a piece of information after the jolting wagon.

”There's a Swede down at Branker's wants a bottle that will limber up a wooden leg,” he said.

Sproatly grinned, and waved his hands to them before he turned to Winifred.

”We have to get through before dark, if possible, or I'd stop and sell them something sure,” he said. ”Parts of the trail further on are simply horrible.”

It occurred to Winifred that the road was far from good as it was, for spouts of mud flew up beneath the sinking hoofs and wheels, and she was already unpleasantly spattered.

”You think you would have succeeded making a sale?” she asked with amus.e.m.e.nt in her eyes.

”Oh, yes,” Sproatly answered confidently. ”If I couldn't plant something on to them when they'd given me a lead like that, I'd be no use in this business. At present, my command of Western phraseology is my fortune.”

”You sell things, then?”

Sproatly pointed to two big boxes in the bottom of the wagon. ”Anything from cough cure to hair restorer, besides a general purpose elixir that's specially prepared for me. It's adaptable to any complaint and season. All you have to do”--and he lowered his voice confidently--”is to put on a different label.”

Winifred laughed when she met his eyes.

”What happens to the people who buy it?” she inquired.

”Most of them are bachelors, and tough. They've stood their own cooking so long that they ought to be impervious to anything, and if anybody's really sick I hold off and tell him to wait until he can get a doctor. A sensitive conscience,” he added reflectively, ”is quite a handicap in this business.”

”You have always been in it?” asked Winifred.

”No,” replied Sproatly, ”although you mightn't believe it, I was raised with the idea that I should have my choice between the Church and the Bar. The idea, however, proved--impracticable--which is rather a pity.

It has seemed to me that a man who can work off cough cures and cosmetics on to healthy folks and talk a scoffer off the field, ought to have made his mark in either calling.”

He looked at her as if for confirmation of this view, but Winifred, who laughed again, glanced at the two wagons that, several miles away, moved across the gray-white sweep of prairie.

”Shall we overtake them?” she asked.

”We'll probably come up with Gregory. I'm not sure about Wyllard.”

”He drives faster horses?”

”That's not quite the reason. Gregory has patched up one trace with a bit of string, and odd bolts are rather addicted to coming out of his wagon. Sometimes it makes trouble. I've known the team to leave him sitting on the prairie, thinking of endearing names for them, while they came home with the pole.”

”Does he generally let things fall into that state?”

Sproatly was evidently on his guard.