Me Smith
a dead-game one out of you!” he declared with enthusiasm. “When we make a stake, we’ll go to Billings and rip up the sod!”
“I’ll like that,” said Susie dryly.
“When the right time comes, I’ll know it,” Smith went on. “When I wakes up some mornin’ with a feelin’ that it’s the day to get action on, I always follows that feelin’—if it takes holt of me anyways strong. I has to do certain things on certain days. I hates a chilly day worse nor anything. I wants to hole up, and I feels mean enough to bite myself. But when the sun shines, it thaws me; it draws the frost out of my heart, like. I hates to let anybody’s blood when the sun shines. I likes to lie out on a rock like a lizard, and I feels kind. I’m cur’ous that way, about sun, me—Smith.”
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XIV
THE SLAYER OF MASTODONS
Dora and Susie had planned to botanize one fine Saturday morning, and Susie, dressed for a tramp in the hills, was playing with a pup in the dooryard, waiting for Dora, when she saw Smith coming toward her with the short, quick step which, she had learned, with him denoted mental activity.
“This is the day for it,” he said decisively. “I had that notorious feelin’ take holt of me when I got awake. How’s your heart, girl?”
It had given a thump at Smith’s approach, and Susie’s tawny skin had paled under its tan, but by way of reply she gave the suggestive Indian sign of strength.
“Good!” he nodded. “You’ll need a strong heart for the ridin’ you’ve got to do to-day; but I’m not a worryin’ that you can’t do it, kid, for I’ve watched you close.”
“Guess I could ride a flyin’ squirrel if I had to,” Susie replied shortly, “but Teacher wanted me to go with her to get flowers. She doesn’t like to go alone.”
“There’s no call for her to go alone. I’ll go with her. It’s no use for me to get to the plant before afternoon. I’ll go on this flower-pickin’ spree, and be at the mouth of the canyon in time to hold the first bunch of horses you bring in. They’re pretty much scattered, you know. What for an outfit you goin’ to wear? You don’t want no flappin’ skirts to advertise you.”
Susie answered curtly:
“I got some sense.”
“You’re a sassy side-kicker,” he observed good-humoredly.
She pouted.
“I don’t care, I wanted to pick flowers.”
Smith said mockingly, “So do I, angel child. I jest worships flowers!”
“From pickin’ flowers to stealin’ horses is some of a jump.”
“I holds a record for long jumps.” As a final warning Smith said: “Now, don’t make no mistake in cuttin’ out, for we’ve picked the top horses of the range. And remember, once you get ’em strung out, haze ’em along—for there’ll be hell a-poppin’ on the reservation when they’re missed.”
Susie had disappeared when the Schoolmarm came out with her basket and knife, prepared to start, and Smith gave some plausible excuse for her change of plan.
“She told me to go in her place,” said Smith eagerly, “and I know a gulch where there’s a barrel of them Mormon lilies, and rock-roses, and a reg’lar carpet of these here durn little blue flowers that look so nice and smell like a Chinese laundry. I can dig like a badger, too.”
Dora laughed, and, looking at him, noticed, as she often had before, the wonderful vividness with which his varying moods were reflected in his face, completely altering his expression.
He looked boyish, brimming with the buoyant spirits of youth. His skin had unwonted clearness, his eyes were bright, his face was animated; he seemed to radiate exuberant good-humor. Even his voice was different and his laugh was less hard. As he walked away with the Schoolmarm’s basket swinging on his arm, he was for the time what he should have been always. He had long since made ample apology to Dora for his offense and there had been no further outbreak from him of which to complain.
The day’s work was cut out for Ralston also, when he saw Yellow Bird and another Indian ride away, each leading a pack-horse, and learned from Ling that they had gone to butcher. They started off over the reservation, in the direction in which the MacDonald cattle ranged; with the intention, Ralston supposed, of circling and coming out on the Bar C range. He thought that by keeping well to the draws and gulches he could remain fairly well hidden and yet keep them in sight.
He heard voices, and turned a hill just in time to see
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