The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 29

"You're welcome, ma'am," Sandy returned, with a clumsy bow, failing to realize her change of att.i.tude.

"If you guess I'm right for marryin', maybe you'll hand me my diploma," she said, with a demure down-drooping of her eyelids.

She waited, and finally glanced up into his flushed face. Her sarcasm had struck home at last, and without hesitation she went on mercilessly--

"Say, if you ain't goin' to hand me a diploma, guess you can let me get on with my sewin'. Havin' been a married man, maybe you'll understand men-folk ain't a heap of use around when a woman's sewin'.

Guess they're handy ladlin' out most things, but I'd say a man ain't no more use round the eye of a needle than a camel."

Sandy's dignity and temper were ruffled. It was inconceivable that Birdie--or, as he mentally apostrophized her, "this blamed hash-slinger"--should so flout him. How dared she? He was so angry that words for once utterly failed him, and he moved towards the door with gills as scarlet as any bl.u.s.tering turkey-c.o.c.k. But Birdie had no idea of sparing him, and hurled her final sarcasm as she turned again to her cupboard.

"I'd hate to be one o' Zip's kids with you gettin' busy around me,"

she cried, chuckling in an infuriating manner.

It was too much for Sandy. He turned fiercely as he reached the door.

"You're 'bug,'" he declared roughly. "I tell you, Zip's kids ain't nothin' to do with me--"

"Which, I'd say, was lucky for them," cried Birdie airily.

"An' I'd jest like to say that when a genelman gits around to do the perlite by a no-account mutton-worrier, he figgers to be treat right--"

Birdie turned on him with cold eyes.

"I'll sure be treatin' you right," she said, "when I tell you that door don't need shuttin' after you. It's on the swing."

She did not wait to witness her guest's departure. She felt it would not be graceful, under the circ.u.mstances. So, pus.h.i.+ng her head into the cupboard, she once more gathered up her work.

When the soft swish of the swing-door told her that Sandy's departure had been taken, she emerged with her bundle and spread it out on the table for the third time. She was all smiles. She was not a bit angry with the foolish widower. This dogmatic att.i.tude of mind, this wonderful self-satisfaction, were peculiar to the creature; he couldn't help it. But it had roused a mischievous spirit in her, and the temptation was too great to resist. The only thing she regretted was having let him kiss her, and she at once put up her hand to wipe the spot where the operation had been performed. At any rate, she had certainly taken him down a peg or two, and the thought set her in high good-humor.

Nor could she help wondering at his stupidity in imagining she couldn't see through his desire for information about children. It was laughable, coming after Toby's. Oh, these men! They were dear, foolish creatures. Poor kids, she thought, her mind reverting to Zip's twins.

What had they done to have this pack of foolish people worrying over them? Were they all going to take a hand in bringing the youngsters up? Well, anyhow, she pitied them.

She smiled at her thoughts as the busy scissors snipped their way round the pattern. These men were too funny. First Toby, now Sandy--who next?

She started and looked up, her scissors poised in the air. The swing-door had swished open, and Wild Bill stood before her.

"Good sakes!" she cried. "How you scared me!" Then, realizing what lay before her, she grabbed up her work, and was for returning it to the cupboard.

But Wild Bill was in a hurry. Besides, he had nothing of the ingratiating ways of the other men about him. He saw her object, and stayed her in his own peculiar authoritative fas.h.i.+on.

"Say, you can quit huggin' them fixin's," he cried. "I ain't come pryin' around a leddy's wardrobe. You ken jest set down with paper an'

ink an' things, an' write down how best Zip's kids can be raised. I'll git right back for it in ha'f-an-hour."

Nor did he wait for any reply. It was taken for granted that his demands would be promptly acceded to, and he vanished as abruptly as he came. The swing-door closed, and Birdie gave a sigh.

"An' him, too," she murmured. "Well, I do declare. It just licks creation."

But this was a different proposition to either Toby or Sandy. She sprang to her task for the great Wild Bill in a way that spoke volumes for her sentimental heart. Wild Bill? Well, she would never have owned it, but there was just one man in the world that scared Birdie to death, and at the same time made her think her path was a bed of roses, and that was Wild Bill. In an astonis.h.i.+ngly short time she was sitting at the table poring over a writing-pad, and biting the already well-chewed end of a pen.

Outside, in the smoke-laden atmosphere of the store, amidst the busy click of poker chips and clink of gla.s.ses, Wild Bill was talking earnestly to Minky, who was standing behind the counter.

They had been talking for some time. Minky's eyes frequently wandered in the direction of a table where four strangers were playing. But no one could have guessed, in his quiet scrutiny, the anxiety that lay behind it.

"You _must_ git out to-night?" he inquired of his hawk-visaged friend.

"Sure," responded Bill absently.

"High finance?"

Bill nodded, with the ghost of a smile.

"A gang of rich guys," he said. "They're gathering at Sp.a.w.n City for a financial descent on Suffering Creek. They're all minin' folk. Guess they'll be yearning for a big game."

"When'll you git back?"

"Noon, day after to-morrow, maybe."

Bill had turned away, and was abstractedly contemplating the strangers. Suddenly he turned again, and his steely eyes fixed themselves on the troubled Minky.

"Say, things is gettin' on your nerves. It ain't yet. Those folks is only lookin' fer pointers."

"An' findin' 'em?"

"Mebbe. But it takes time. Say, we ain't dead in Suffering Creek yet.

I'll be around before--"

"Trouble gits busy." Minky laughed hollowly.

"Sure. I'm most gener'ly around when trouble--gits busy. I'm made like that."

"I'm glad."

Bill drank up the remains of his drink and began to move away.

"Wher' you going now?" inquired Minky.

"See my plugs fed an' watered, and then gittin' around my shack. I've got to see some folks before I hit the trail. Say, I ain't got big enough wad. Best hand me a couple o' thousand."

Minky dived under his counter, and, after fumbling for some time, reappeared with the required sum in United States currency.

"Good luck," he said, as he pa.s.sed it across the counter cautiously.

"Thanks. An', say--see the boys keep a close eye on Zip--an' the kids.

So long."

He moved away, but instead of pa.s.sing out of the front door he disappeared into the dining-room at the back.