Part 10 (2/2)
”Not a severe penalty, O Sheriff Man!” she thought as she replied meekly: ”To-night I feel as if I could never do anything wrong; but you know the strongest of us have our lapses.”
”I know that too well,” he said gravely, ”but--you'll try?”
”I'll try. Good-night, Mr. Walters.”
In the doorway she paused and looked back. He was gazing meditatively into the flames of the open fire. She shook a little defiant fist at him and made a childish grimace, both of which actions were witnessed by Kingdon as he entered the room.
”Do you know,” he confided later to his wife, with a chuckle of reminiscence, ”as fine a fellow as Kurt is, I sometimes feel like shaking a fist at him myself.”
CHAPTER IV
As on the day previous, Pen awoke at an early hour. She lay quiet for a moment, sensing to the full the deliciousness of being cosily submerged in soft, warm coverings that protected her from the crisp, keen hill-winds that were sweeping into her room.
”The air smells as if it came right off the snow,” she thought, as she drew on some fur-bound slippers and wrapped herself in a Navajo blanket that was on the footrail of her bed. Then she crossed the room, climbed up on the big seat under the cas.e.m.e.nt window and looked out.
It was not the thrilling beauty of the covey of pink-lined dawn-clouds that made her eyes grow round, big and bright; that brought a faint flush to her cheeks; a quick intake of breath. It was something much more mundane that held her attention--the superb spectacle of Kurt Walters, mounted. The lean, brown horseman sat on his saddle as easily as though it were a cus.h.i.+on in a rocking chair. He was talking to three or four cattlemen and apparently paying no attention to his cavorting steed except that occasionally and casually his firm hands brought the plunging animal to earth.
”He's to the saddle born,” thought the girl admiringly. ”He ought to stay on a horse. If I'd seen him yesterday on horseback, he wouldn't have had to _take_ me. I'd have flown to him.”
He gave a last command to one of the men, as he turned to ride away.
”All right, boss,” was the reply, as the men dispersed to their various stations of duty.
Suddenly and psychologically the eyes of the rider were lifted to the cas.e.m.e.nt window. Pen waved her hand airily toward him, the movement loosening the gayly striped blanket which fell from her shoulders. The Indian-brown of his face reddened darkly; a gleam came into his steel-gray eyes. He made a military motion toward his hat brim with his whip and then rode swiftly away, without the backward and upward look which she was expecting.
”The boss is a bashful boss,” she thought, with a lazy little pout, as she shook off the blanket, flung her slippers free and went back to bed.
”He's good to look at, but oh, you comfortable cot!”
When next she awoke, it was near the breakfast hour.
”I'm glad I'm not the last one down,” she said, as she came into the dining-room and noticed Kurt's vacant chair.
”Oh, but you are!” Betty hastened to say. ”Uncle Kurt's gone away for a whole week, hasn't he, father?”
”When did he go, Louis?” asked Mrs. Kingdon in surprise.
”A message came for him late last night,” explained her husband. ”The sheriff has unexpectedly returned, and Kurt has to be in town for a week to settle up all the red tape routine for his release; and besides, the trial of So Long Sam has been called, and he'll have to attend.”
Pen had a sense as of something lifted.
”A reprieve for a week, and I can have a beautiful time with n.o.body nigh to hinder,” she thought. ”I had a narrow escape from a real sheriff. Luck is with me, and no mistake!”
”You will feel lost without Kurt at the helm, won't you, Louis?” asked Mrs. Kingdon. ”And Jo away, too.”
”Westcott returned Jo this morning. Simpson has delayed his trip to Canada for a few days.”
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