Part 11 (2/2)

As she glanced up, he took on the forbidding height and glowering aspect of her first school-teacher. But she summoned heart. ”How d' ye do?” she said, nodding at him cordially.

”What're ye doin' up here?” he demanded. ”Ye lost? Come in! come in!”

”Oh, no,” answered the little girl, following him into the shanty.

He lighted a lantern, and, turning it upon her, eyed her anxiously. She looked even thinner, paler, and more eerie than she had in the yard.

”Sit down,” he said, motioning her to a bench. But he remained standing, his hands shoved far into the top of his wide, yellow, goatskin ”chaps,”

his quid rolling from side to side. ”W'y, I thought you 's a spook,” he laughed, ”er a will-o'-th'-wisp--one. Want a drink er somethin' to eat?

Got lots o' nice coffee. Guess y' 're petered.”

”No, I'm not,” she declared. And as he turned from the stove, where he had put the coffee on to boil, she got up and stepped toward him.

”I--I--called to get somefing,” she faltered, resuming, in her trepidation, a babyish p.r.o.nunciation long since discarded for one more dignified.

”Ye did?” queried the cattleman.

”Yes,” she continued. ”You 'member the night I 'most died?” He acquiesced silently. ”Well, you told me then that if I'd get well you'd give me anyfing on your ranch.”

The cattleman started as if he had been stung, and, wheeling about, took out his quid and threw it on the flames, so that he might be better able to cope with the matter before him.

”And so,” the little girl went on, ”I fought I'd come to-day.”

The cattleman rubbed his chin. ”I see; I see,” he said.

”I couldn't get here sooner,” she explained, ”'cause I didn't ride.”

”Oh, ye didn't?” he said. Then, noting the bridle and bag, ”What ye got them fer?” he asked.

”I didn't want to use yours,” she replied.

”Mine?” The cattleman was puzzled.

”Yes: I brought this,” she went on, holding up the bag, ”to catch him wiv; and this,” holding up the bridle, ”to take him home wiv.”

”Him?” questioned the cattleman, more puzzled than ever.

The little girl saw that she would have to make herself more clear.

”Why, yes,” she said. ”You promised me anyfing I wanted if I'd get well; now I'm well, so I've come to--to--get Sultan.”

The cattleman sat down, amazement and consternation succeeding each other on his face. Until now he had forgotten the compact made with her, and which he was in honor bound to keep. Recalling it, he realized that it meant the loss of his best horse.

He was silent for a while, thinking hard for a means of escape from his dilemma. When he spoke at last he was smiling good-naturedly. ”Ye're right,” he said, rubbing his hands briskly over the long hair of the breeches; ”I did say that very thing. An' I'm a man o' my word. But it seems to me,” and he leaned forward confidently, ”thet ye ain't made exac'ly the best pick thet ye could.” The little girl sat up with a new interest. ”Now I've got sunthin' here,” continued the cattleman, ”thet'll jes make yer eyes pop.” He got up, went to a box that, nailed against the wall above the stove, served him for a cupboard, and took out a long, slender package. ”Ye've got more horses than ye can shake a stick at,” he began again; ”ponies an' plow teams an' buggy nags, but ye ain't got nuthin' like what I'm 'bout to show ye.”

Slowly and impressively he began to undo the package, keeping one eye covertly on the little girl all the while. She was beside him, rigid with expectancy. When many thicknesses of thin brown paper had been unrolled, he stepped back, unwrapped a last cover, and, with a proud wave of his hand, revealed to her delighted gaze a big, thick, red-and-white candy cane.

”Now, what do ye think o' that?” he demanded.

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