“What in thunder was the matter with her then?” said Ellhorn, a bit nettled over the outcome of his gallantry. “It couldn’t have been because she didn’t want me to kiss her.”
Mead broke into a loud, hearty roar, Tuttle grinned broadly, and Ellhorn regarded the two of them with an angry look. Mead leaned over and slapped his shoulder.
“Nick, you’re a devil of a fellow with the women, and I know it as well as you do. I guess Amada’s not very different from the rest of ’em, if she did stop your performance. She looked as if she saw a ghost, and maybe she thought she did. These Mexicans are a superstitious lot. Maybe she’s kissed one too many some time and happened to think of it just when it spoiled your fun.”
“She’s a stunner, anyway!” said Ellhorn enthusiastically, his good humor restored. “I say, Emerson, is she straight?”
“I guess so. Yes, I sure reckon she must be, or Juan Garcia would have made trouble. Old Juan and his wife are fine old people, and any man who wronged Amada would have to answer for it to her father. He’d have to either kill the old man or be killed himself in mighty short order. Oh, yes, Amada’s a good girl, but she’s an awful little flirt.”
As soon as the cattle were secured in the pens at the railroad station, ready to be transferred to the cars, Emerson Mead put spurs to his horse and rode off alone to the northward without a word to his friends. Nick and Tom, perched on the high fence of a cattle-pen, watched him gallop away with amazement. His action was unusual and surprising, for when the three were together where one went the others went also, or, at least, knew all about it. The two left behind discussed what it might mean. Nick watched him until, half a dozen blocks away, he turned off toward the mountains from which they had just come. Then a light broke upon Ellhorn and he slapped his knee with his palm and broke into a laugh.
“Tom Tuttle, I reckon I’m onto his curves! He’s goin’ to strike the mountain road back of town a ways and come in alone, past Frenchy Delarue’s place, as if he’d just come to town!”
“Frenchy Delarue! Does he mean to have it out with Frenchy for the way he talked at that mass-meetin’? Say, Nick, we ought to be handy, for he’ll sure need us. Come on, let’s ride out that way.” And Tuttle began to climb down from his high perch. Ellhorn stopped him with another roar of laughter.
“Tommy, sometimes I think you sure ain’t got any more sense than a two-year-old! Emerson don’t care anything about Frenchy Delarue, or what he said at a dozen mass-meetings. He don’t hold things against a man that way.” Ellhorn ended with another laugh and sat there chuckling while Tom looked at him resentfully.
“I don’t see what you want to make a fool of a fellow for,” he said sulkily. “If you-all don’t want to tell me what it’s all about, say so, and I won’t ask any more questions.”