Part 36 (1/2)
”Appearances is deceivin'” concluded the foreman. ”Look at Mrs. Dan Barry. They tell you around these parts that she's pretty, but they don't tell you how d.a.m.ned fine lookin' she is. She's got a soft look and you'd never pick her for the sort that would run clean off with a gent like Barry. Barry himself wasn't so bad for looks, but they'll tell you in Elkhead how bad he is in action, and maybe they's some widders in Alder that could put in a word. Take even the kid. She looks no more'n a baby, but what d'you know is inside of her?
”Speakin' personal, gents, I don't put no kind of trust in that houseful yonder. Here they come in the middle of the night like there was a posse after 'em. They climb that house and sit down and eat like they'd ridden all day. Maybe they had. Even while they was eatin' they didn't seem none too happy.
”That loose shutter upstairs come around in the wind with a bang and Buck Daniels comes out of his chair as fast as powder could blow him.
He didn't say nothin'. Just sat down lookin' kind of sick, and the other two was the same way. When they talked, they'd bust off in the middle of a word and let their eyes go trailin' into some corner of the room that was plumb full of shadow. Then Lee Haines gets up and walks up and down.
”'Swann,' says he, 'how many good men have you got on the place?'
”'Why,' says I, 'they're all good!'
”'Huh,' says Haines, and he puts a hand on my shoulder, 'Just how good are they, Swann?'”
”I seen what he wanted. He wanted to know how many sc.r.a.ppy gents was punchin' cows here; maybe them three up there figures that they might need help. From what? What was they runnin' away from?”
”Hey!” broke in one of the cowpunchers, pointing with a dramatic fork through the window.
It was a bright spot of gold that disappeared over the top of the nearest hill; then it came into view again, the whole body of a yellow-haired child, clothed in a wisp of white, and running steadily toward the north.
”The kid!” gasped the foreman. ”Boys, grab her. No, you'd bust her; I know how to handle her!”
He was gone through the door with gigantic leaps and shot over the crest of the low hill. Then those in the cookhouse heard a small, tingling scream; after it, came silence, and the tall foreman striding across the hill with the child high in his arms. He came panting through the door and stood her up on the end of the table, a small and fearless creature.
She wore on her feet the little moccasins which Dan himself had fas.h.i.+oned for her, but the tawny hide was not on her--perhaps her mother had thrown the garment away. The moccasins and the white nightgown were the sum and substance of her apparel, and the cowpunchers stood up around the table to admire her s.p.u.n.k.
”Damed near spat pizen,” observed Ben Swann, ”when I hung into her--tried to bite me, but the minute I got her in my hands she quit strugglin', as reasonable as a grown-up, by G.o.d!”
”Shut up, Ben. Don't you know no better'n to cuss in front of a kid?”
The great, dark eyes of Joan went somberly from face to face. If she was afraid, she disguised it well, but now and then, like a wild thing which sees that escape is impossible, she looked through the window and out over the open country beyond.
”Where was you headed for, honey?” queried Ben Swann.
The child considered him bravely for a time before she replied.
”Over there.”
”Over there? Now what might she mean by that? Headed for Elkhead--in a nightgown? Any place I could take you, kid?”
If she did not altogether trust Ben Swann, at least she preferred him to the other unshaven, work-thinned faces which leered at her around the table.
”Daddy Dan,” she said softly. ”Joan wants to go to Daddy Dan.”
”Daddy Dan--Dan Barry,” translated Ben Swann, and he drew a bit away from her. ”Boys, that mankillin' devil must be around here; and that's what them up to the house was runnin' from--Barry!”
It scattered the others to the windows, to the door.
”What d'you see?”
”Nothin'.”