Part 29 (1/2)

”The h.e.l.l, man!” He s.n.a.t.c.hed whip and launched it, up the faltering team.

The cracker popped an inch above the off lead mule's cringing haunch twenty feet before. ”You can't stop hyar! Can't hold the rest of the train. Joe! Baldy! Hep with you!” The team straightened out; he restored me the whip. His wrath subsided, for in less dudgeon he addressed her.

”Want to ride, do ye?”

”I did, sir.”

”Wall, in Gawd's name ride, then. But we don't stop for pa.s.sengers.”

With that, in another white heat he had picked her up bodily, swung her upon the nearest mule; so that before she knew (she scarce had time to utter an astonished little e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n as she yielded to his arms) there she was, perched, breathless, upon the sweaty hide. I awaited results.

Jenks chuckled.

”What you need is an old feller, lady. These young bucks ain't broke to the feed canvas. Now when you want to get off you call me. You don't weigh more'n a peck of beans.”

With a bantering wink at me he again fell back. Once more I had been forestalled. There should be no third time.

My Lady sat clinging, at first angry-eyed, but in a moment softened by my discomfiture.

”Your partner is rather sudden,” she averred. ”He asked permission of neither me nor the mule.”

”He meant well. He isn't used to women,” I apologized.

”More used to mules, I judge.”

”Yes. If he had asked the mule it would have objected, whereas it's delighted.”

”Perhaps he knows there's not much difference between a woman and a mule, in that respect,” she proffered. ”You need not apologize for him.”

”I apologize for myself,” I blurted. ”I see I'm a little slow for this country.”

”You?” She soberly surveyed me as I ploughed through the dust, at her knees. ”I think you'll catch up. If you don't object to my company, yourself, occasionally, maybe I can help you.”

”I certainly cannot object to your company whenever it is available, madam,” I a.s.sured.

”You do not hold your experience in Benton against me?”

”I got no more than I deserved, in the Big Tent,” said I. ”I went in as a fool and I came out as a fool, but considerably wiser.”

”You reproached me for it,” she accused. ”You hated me. Do you hate me still, I wonder? I tell you I was not to blame for the loss of your money.”

”The money has mattered little, madam,” I informed. ”It was only a few dollars, and it turned me to a job more to my liking and good health than fiddling my time away, back there. I have you to thank for that.”

”No, no! You are cruel, sir. You thank me for the good and you saddle me with the bad. I accept neither. Both, as happened, were misplays. You should not have lost money, you should not have changed vocation. You should have won a little money and you should have pursued health in Benton.” She sighed. ”And we all would have been reasonably content. Now here you and I are--and what are we going to do about it?”

”We?” I echoed, annoyingly haphazard. ”Why so? You're being well cared for, I take it; and I'm under engagement for Salt Lake myself.”

The answer did sound rude. I was still a cad. She eyed me, with a certain whiteness, a certain puzzled intentness, a certain fugitive wistfulness--a mute estimation that made me too conscious of her clear appraising gaze and rack my brain for some disarming remark.

”You're not responsible for me, you would say?”