But when we came to settle our bill the proprietor drew his hand under his long beard and put his head on the side—reminding me of a portrait of Morris I had seen—and remarked, looking from Apache to me and back again: "Well, gentlemen, I 'd consider it a kind of honour to be allowed to remember that I did n't ask nothing for putting you up. I should n't like to remember about you, any time, and to think to myself that I had charged you up. I 'd be kind of honoured if you 'd let me remember I did n't take nothing from you."
We did not speak, but Apache's bow was something to see, and with a hearty shake of the hand we mounted the stage.
"Look up tew the window, my lad," said the driver, gathering up his reins. "Look up tew the window and get what's comin' to you; a smile to warm the cockles of your heart for the rest o' the trip."
And sure enough we had a smile and a wave of a strong and graceful hand from the upper window and raised our hats and bowed and were granted another wave and another also from the proprietor—and a wave from the cook at the gable of the house. And looking round again, as we rolled off, there was the fresh white girl standing at the door now.
She raised her hand to her lips and I felt a little sorry in my heart. I did not like to think she was going to "blow a kiss:" it would be a cheapening of herself methought. Then I felt a little regretful, for she did not blow a kiss, but kept her hand to her mouth as long as she remained there.
We went on in silence and then I heard Apache Kid murmur: "Did she mean it or did she not?"
"Mean what?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" said he, alert suddenly. "Oh! I was talking to myself:" and then he said in a louder tone: "Excuse me, sir, for asking, but do you not carry a gun?"
"No," said I, with a smile part at this revival of his old caution and part at something else.
"Can you shoot?"