The expected avalanche of cushions quenched his song but not his ebullient spirits, for he was soon in a corner with Lottie Mason and Paula concocting a conspiracy against Terrence.
And so the evening continued to be danced and joked and played away. At midnight supper was served, and not till two in the morning were the Wickenbergers ready to depart. While they were getting on their wraps, Paula was proposing for the following afternoon a trip down to the Sacramento River to look over Dick’s experiment in rice-raising.
“I had something else in view,” he told her. “You know the mountain pasture above Sycamore Creek. Three yearlings have been killed there in the last ten days.”
“Mountain lions!” Paula cried.
“Two at least.—Strayed in from the north,” he explained to Graham. “They sometimes do that. We got three five years ago.—Moss and Hartley will be there with the dogs waiting. They’ve located two of the beasts. What do you say all of you join me. We can leave right after lunch.”
“Let me have Mollie?” Lute asked.
“And you can ride Altadena,” Paula told Ernestine.
Quickly the mounts were decided upon, Froelig and Martinez agreeing to go, but promising neither to shoot well nor ride well.
All went out to see the Wickenbergers off, and, after the machines were gone, lingered to make arrangements for the hunting.
“Good night, everybody,” Dick said, as they started to move inside. “I’m going to take a look at Alden Bessie before I turn in. Hennessy is sitting up with her. Remember, you girls, come to lunch in your riding togs, and curses on the head of whoever’s late.”