While he was talking, Bug Eye glanced rapidly toward the cabin. He gave an almost imperceptible jerk to his head, and the others gradually worked their horses a bit nearer the hut and in a wider circle. “You must be right lonely here, all alone. Got a radio? You ought to get one. Heard a new song on the radio only last night. Goes something like this:” He threw back his head, and raised his voice almost to a shout:
“Come out o’ the kitchen, Mary darlin’,
Come out o’ the kitchen, Mary Ann.
Come out—”
“Stop that yellin’!” the woman cried fiercely. “Stop it, I tell ye! If you don’t—” She raised the gun, her face twisted into a snarl of rage.
“I’m stoppin’,” Bug Eye said quickly. “I thought you might like to hear it. No need to get nasty. An’ that gun makes me nervous. Snakes, you sure are touchy, ma’am! Objectin’ to a little singin’!”
Once more his eyes roved in the direction of the cabin. The interior was dark and the windows gave no indication of what was within. Bug Eye waved his hand expressively, so that it would be visible to any one who might be watching.
“With all this canyon to fool around in, you oughtn’t to be so touchy over a song,” the puncher went on.
“Well, I am!” the woman snapped. “I don’t like noise—especially that kind. I think you-all mentioned somethin’ about ridin’ on, a ways back. If I was you, I’d do jest that. Soon be dark, an’ it ain’t nice to be alone in the canyon at night,” and the woman snickered.
“No, I reckon not,” Gus drawled. He winked at Teddy. “Is there any place we could stop if we didn’t make the end by night?”