"What the—what the hell!" she exclaimed, right out loud and regardless.
Silver did not trouble to respond, even if his equine brain held any remembrance of her.
In silence she went about the task of bedding down and feeding her horse; the while her mind was busy. What could have happened to bring John Childress' prize stallion under their roof, not just for a meal, but all tucked in for the night? Was the beautiful beast's master—the elusive, attractive, enigmatic unknown—a guest at the house? Or was it possible that the cogs had slipped, affording a show-down and a capture which left him a prisoner? Not yet was she ready to doubt the man who was more or less under general suspicion; but she did hurry with her chores that she might the sooner get to her place at the oil-cloth covered table where the Galleghers, father and daughter, regularly ate with the men of the outfit.
She entered the long, unfinished room with her usual greeting when she arrived late for the evening meal, the nearest to a formal occasion which the Lazy G Ranch could boast.
"Cheerio!" she cried, and spun her light sombrero to an empty prong on the elk's head that served as hatrack.
"You're late to-night, Firecracker," remarked her father, above the softer-spoken greetings of the several punchers.
"Small matter, if you've left me anything to eat," she countered cheerfully. "I'm hungry as a li'l old brown bear what's just got through a winter's nursing his paw. How about it, Chan Toy, you biscuit-mixing son of a mandarin?" She was the only member of the outfit who ever dared to joke the Chinese who, as cook, swayed no mean sceptre over their ever-hearty appetites.
"If you no like what am left," returned the Chinese with unsmiling countenance, "you know what you can do, Missie Fireworks."
"And what can I do, you heathen Chinee?" she demanded with mock severity.
"You smile and make a face up. Then Chan Toy cook you a beeve-steak special."