“Oh, yas, it’s true ’nough. I’m Lou Brackett,” she admitted sullenly. “An’ jest ’cause I stop to say ‘howdy’ ye go an’ git me into this! I’m in for it now. Cuss the luck!”
“You mean Snake will——”
“Ah, he wunt kill me—I’m too handy. He’ll only haff kill me. But ther’”—a spark of spirit began to gleam under the black brows—“I can git the jump onto him, knowin’ what’s a-comin’. I’ll keep the sadiron by me, an’ when he comes I’ll——”
She paused abruptly, a new and shrewd look flitting over her face. All at once she smiled wide and rolled her eyes at him.
“I know what we can do,” she gurgled. “Don’t ye want a good housekeeper, mister? I hearn ye live all by yerself, an’ that ain’t no way for no man to live. I can cook an’ sew an’ take good care o’ ye, an’—wal, ye got me into this; now ye’d oughter look out for me.”
So taken aback was he that he stood wordless. She moved toward him. He stepped away. A lucky thought came to him.
“I’m living with Dalton’s Death,” he solemnly stated. “You couldn’t live there. The ha’nt walks every night, knocking on the walls and——”
“Don’t say no more!” she quavered. “I was forgittin’. Ye’re crazy, livin’ into that house! I’d ruther stay to Snake’s.”
Inwardly congratulating himself, he sought a line of escape for her—and found it. Up-stream the bank was thickly bushed for some distance, and, though the voices of the children were not far off, they sounded at a respectable distance. He pointed.
“Go up there,” he directed tersely. “Get well away and then hide in the brush. I’ll go talk to the kids—tell them they’re cross-eyed. Oh, and listen—if Snake acts mean ask him what he’s hanging around Nat Oaks’ so much for. If you jump on him quick enough maybe he’ll forget what he hears about this.”