Part 35 (2/2)

A flutter of bafflement showed in her black lashes, but the lips continued to twitch mischievously.

”_Buenos dias_, Watchman of the Dead!” she shot back at him.

Oliver's eyes widened.

”Got under your guard with that one, eh, ol'-timer? Just so!--if you'll permit a Seldenism. t.i.t for tat, as the fella says! Your move again.”

And then she threw back her head and laughed to the skies above her.

”Where are you going?” he asked.

”Ridin'.”

”You weren't headed for the Old Ivison Place.”

”No, not this morning. I was not seeking you. But since I've met you, and the worst is over, I'll not avoid you.”

”Help me pack a load of grub down the canon; then I'll go 'ridin' with you.”

She nodded a.s.sent.

”I thought so,” she observed, as he led Poche and Smith from hiding.

”I thought you'd turn back, or turn off, if you saw me here ahead of you,” he made confession.

”I might have done that,” she told him as they herded Smith into the road and followed him.

They said nothing more about what had taken place the night before until the bags had been filled and diamond-hitched, and Smith was rolling his pack from side to side on the homeward trail. Then Oliver asked abruptly:

”Who laid that fire, and put the box of cloth and the _olla_ at The Four Pools yesterday?”

”Please, sir, I done it,” she replied.

”When?”

”Just before I rode to your cabin last evening.”

”Uh-huh!” he grunted, and fell silent again.

At the cabin she helped him throw off the diamond-hitch and unload the packbags. Then the s.h.a.ggy Smith was left to his own devices--much to his loudly voiced disapproval--and Jessamy and Oliver rode off into the hills.

”Which way?” he asked as they topped the ridge.

”Lime Rock,” she replied.

Tracing cow paths single-file, they wound through and about chaparral patches and rocky canons till they reached the old trail that led to Lime Rock.

<script>