The Captain of the Gray-Horse Troop. Garland Hamlin

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СКАЧАТЬ I'll cook if you'll get some water and keep a good fire going."

      "Sure thing," he said, heartily, taking up the water-pail to go to the spring. When he came back Jennie was dabbling the milk and flour. He stood watching her in silence for some minutes as she worked, and the sullen lines on his face softened and his lips grew boyish.

      "You sure know your business," he said, in a tone of conviction. "When I try to mix dough I get all strung up with it."

      She replied with a smile. "Is the oven hot? These biscuit must come out just right."

      He stirred up the fire. "A man ain't fitten to cook; he's too blame long in the elbows. We have an old squaw when mother is home, but she don't like me, and so she takes a vacation whenever the old lady does. That throws us down on Hosy, and he just about poisons us. A Mexican can't cook no more'n an Injun. We get spring-poor by the time the old lady comes back." Jennie was rolling at the dough and did not reply to him. He held the door open for her when she was ready to put the biscuit in the oven, and lit another bracket-lamp in order to see her better.

      "Do you know, you're the first girl I ever saw in this kitchen."

      "Am I?"

      "That's right." After a pause he added: "I'm mighty glad I didn't get home to eat Hosy's supper. I want a chance at some of them biscuit."

      "Slice this bacon, please – not too thick," she added, briskly.

      He took the knife. "Where do you hail from, anyway?" he asked, irrelevantly.

      "From the coast," she replied.

      "That so? Born there?"

      "Oh no. I was born in Maryland, near Washington."

      "There's a place I'd like to live if I had money enough. A feller can have a continuous picnic in Washington if he's got the dust to spare, so I hear."

      "Now you set the table while I make the omelette."

      "The how-many?"

      "The omelette, which must go directly to the table after it is made."

      He began to pile dishes on the table, which ran across one end of the room, but found time to watch her as she broke the eggs.

      "If a feller lives long enough and keeps his mouth shut and his eyes open he'll learn a powerful heap, won't he? I've seen that word in the newspaper a whole lot, but I'll be shot if I ever knew that it was jest aigs."

      Jennie was amused, but too hungry to spend much time listening. "You may call them in," she said, after a glance at the biscuit.

      The young man opened the door and said, lazily, "Cap, come to grub."

      Curtis was again examining the guns in the rack, "You're well heeled."

      "Haff to be, in this country," said the young fellow, carelessly. "Set down anywhere – that is, I mean anywhere the cook says."

      Jennie didn't like his growing familiarity, but she dissembled. "Sit here, George," she said, indicating a chair at the end. "I will sit where I can reach the coffee."

      "Let me do that," said Calvin. "Louie, I guess you're not in this game," he said to the boy looking wistfully in at the door.

      "Oh, let him come – he's as hungry as we are. Let him sit down," protested Jennie.

      Young Streeter acquiesced. "It's all the same to me, if you don't object to a 'breed," he said, brutally. Louie took his seat in silence, but it was plain he did not enjoy the insolence of the cowboy.

      Curtis was after information. "You speak of needing guns – there isn't any danger, I hope?"

      "Well, not right now, but we expect to get Congress to pass a bill removing these brutes, and then there may be trouble. Even now we find it safer to go armed. Every little while some Injun kills a beef for us, and we want to be prepared to skin 'em if we jump 'em up in time. I wouldn't trust one of 'em as far as you could throw a yearling bull by the tail."

      "Are they as bad as that?" asked Jennie, with widely open eyes.

      "They're treacherous hounds. Old Elk goes around smiling, but he'd let a knife into me too quick if he saw his chance. Hark!" he called, with lifted hand.

      They all listened. The swift drumming of hoofs could be heard, mingled with the chuckle of a carriage. Calvin rose. "That's the old man, I reckon," and going to the door he raised a peculiar whoop. A voice replied faintly, and soon the buggy rolled up to the door and the new-comer entered the front room. A quick, sharp voice cried out:

      "Whose hat is that? Who's here?"

      "A feller on his way to visit the agent. He's in there eatin' supper."

      A rapid, resolute step approached the door, and Curtis looked up to meet the keen eyes of a big, ruddy-faced man of fifty, with hair and beard as white as wool. His eyes were steel-blue and penetrating as fire.

      "Good-evening, sir. Good-evening, madam. Don't rise. Keep your seats. I'll just drop my coat and sit down with you."

      He was so distinctly a man of remarkable quality that Curtis stared at him in deep surprise. He had expected to see a loose-jointed, slouchy man of middle-age, but Joseph Streeter was plainly a man of decision and power. His white hair did not betoken weakness or age, for he moved like one in the full vigor of his late manhood. To his visitors he appeared to be a suspicious, irascible, and generous man.

      "Hello!" he called, jovially, "biscuit! Cal, you didn't do these, nor Hosy, neither."

      Cal grinned. "Well, not by a whole row o' dogs. This – lady did 'em."

      Streeter turned his vivid blue eyes on Jennie. "I want to know! Well, I'm much obliged. When did you come?" he asked of Curtis.

      "About an hour ago."

      "Goin' far?"

      "Over to the agency."

      "Friend of the agent?"

      "No, but I have a letter of introduction to him."

      Streeter seemed to be satisfied. "You'll find him a very accommodating gentleman."

      "So I hear," said Curtis, and some subtle inflection in his tone caused Streeter to turn towards him again.

      "What did I understand your name was?"

      "Curtis."

      "Where from?"

      "San Francisco."

      "Oh yes. I think I heard Sennett speak of you. Those biscuit are mighty good. I'll take another. Couldn't persuade you to stay here, could I?" He turned to Jennie.

      Jennie laughed. "I'm afraid not – it's too lonesome."

      Cal seized the chance to say: "It ain't so lonesome as it looks now. We're a lively lot here sometimes."

      Streeter gave him a glance which stopped him. "Cal, you take Hosy and go over to the camp and tell the boys to hustle in two hundred steers. I want to get 'em passed on to-morrow afternoon, or next day sure."

      Calvin's СКАЧАТЬ