Part 4 (1/2)

The thought that she might have a husband aroused in him a sensation of vague disquiet.

He heard her moving about in the cabin, heard the rattle of dishes, the swish of a broom on the rough floor. And then presently she came out, dragging another rocker. Then she re-entered the cabin, returning with a strip of striped cloth and a sewing basket. She seated herself in the chair, placed the basket in her lap, and with a half smile on her face began to ply the needle. He lay back contentedly and watched her.

Hers was a lithe, vigorous figure in a white ap.r.o.n and a checkered dress of some soft material. She wore no collar; her sleeves were shoved up above the elbows, revealing a pair of slightly browned hands and white, rounded arms. Her eyes were brown as her hair--the latter in a tumble of graceful disorder. Through half closed eyes he was appraising her in a riot of admiration that threatened completely to bias his judgment. And yet women had interested him very little.

Perhaps that was because he had never seen a woman like this one. The women that he had known had been those of the plains-town--the unfortunates who through circ.u.mstances or inclination had been drawn into the maelstrom of cow-country vice, and who, while they may have found flattery, were never objects of honest admiration or respect.

He had known this young woman only a few hours, and yet he knew that with her he could not adopt the easy, matter-of-fact intimacy that had answered with the other women he had known. In fact, the desire to look upon her in this light never entered his mind. Instead, he was filled with a deep admiration for her--an admiration in which there was a profound respect.

”I expect you must know your business, ma'am,” he said, after watching her for a few minutes. ”An' I'm mighty glad that you do. Most women would have been pretty nearly fl.u.s.tered over a snake bite.”

”Why,” she returned, without looking up, but exhibiting a little embarra.s.sment, which betrayed itself in a slight flush, ”I really think that I was a little excited--especially when you came riding up to the porch.” She thought of his words, when, looking at her accusingly, he had told her that she was ”a h.e.l.l of a snake,” and the flush grew, suffusing her face. This of course he had not known and never would know, but the words had caused her many smiles during the night.

”You didn't show it much,” he observed. ”You must have took right a-hold. Some women would have gone clean off the handle. They wouldn't have been able to do anything.”

Her lips twitched, but she still gave her attention to her sewing, treating his talk with a mild interest.

”There is nothing about a snake bite to become excited over. That is, if treatment is applied in time. In your case the tourniquet kept the poison from getting very far into your system. If you hadn't thought of that it might have gone very hard with you.”

”That rope around my leg wouldn't have done me a bit of good though, ma'am, if I hadn't stumbled onto your cabin. I don't know when seein'

a woman has pleased me more.”

She smiled enigmatically, her eyelashes flickering slightly. But she did not answer.

Until noon she sewed, and he lay lazily back in the chair, watching her sometimes, sometimes looking at the country around him. They talked very little. Once, when he had been looking at her for a long time, she suddenly raised her eyes and they met his fairly. Both smiled, but he saw a blush mantle her cheeks.

At noon she rose and entered the cabin. A little later she called to him, telling him that dinner was ready. He washed from the tin basin that stood on the bench just outside the door, and entering sat at the table and ate heartily.

After dinner he did not see her again for a time, and becoming wearied of the chair he set out on a short excursion to the river. When he returned she was seated on the porch and looked up at him with a demure smile.

”You will be quite active by to-morrow,” she said.

”I ain't feelin' exactly lazy now,” he returned, showing a surprising agility in reaching his chair.

When the sun began to swim low over the hills, he looked at her with a curiously grim smile.

”I reckon that rattler was fooled last night,” he said. ”But if foolin' him had been left to me I expect I'd have made a bad job of it.

But I'm thinkin' that he done his little old dyin' when the sun went down last night. An' I'm still here. An' I'll keep right on, usin'

his brothers an' sisters for targets--when I think that I'm needin'

practice.”

”Then you killed the snake?”

”Why sure, ma'am. I wasn't figgerin' to let that rattler go a-fannin'

right on to hook someone else. That'd be encouragin' his trade.”

She laughed, evidently pleased over his earnestness. ”Oh, I see,” she said. ”Then you were not angry merely because he bit you? You killed him to keep him from attacking other persons?”

He smiled. ”I sure was some angry,” he returned. ”An' I reckon that just at the time I wasn't thinkin' much about other people. I was havin' plenty to keep me busy.”