Her shoulder touched his, her hair brushed his cheek. He wished that they might go on holding down that grasshopper until the end of time. She was panting with the exertion, her nose was moist like a baby’s when it sleeps, and he noticed in a swift, sidelong glance that the pupils of her eyes all but covered the iris.
“He—he’s wiggling!” she said tremulously.
“Is he?” Ralston asked fatuously, at a loss for words, but making no move to lift his hand.
“And there’s a cactus in my finger.”
“Let me see it.” Immediately his face was full of deep concern.
He held her fingers, turning the small pink palm upward.
“We must get it out,” he declared firmly. “They poison some people.”
He wondered if it was imagination, or did her hand tremble a little in his? His relief was not unmixed with disappointment when the cactus spine came out easily.
“They hurt—those needles.” He continued to regard the tiny puncture with unabated interest.
“Tra! la! la!” sang Susie from the brow of the hill. “Old Smith is comin’.”