And Frank listening heard no applause after they were through; instead, there was a dense silence beyond that open door, as though something about the song had touched the hardened heart of the cow puncher, and started him to thinking of things that had long banished from his mind.
Even Andy noticed the suggestive silence, and catching the eye of his cousin, nodded his head in the direction of the room where the injured man lay, while he smiled, as much as to say:
“That was a center-shot, Frank; you hit the bull’s-eye that time, old fellow, and chances are that now he’s got to thinking, Joe isn’t going to be able to forget again in a hurry. You mark my words, there’ll be a call for paper and pen inside of a day or two.”
And sure enough, though there may be no further opportunity to mention the matter again, on account of other stirring scenes that await our attention, it can be stated right here and now that Alkali Joe did write a letter home before another forty-eight hours had expired. So that the little accident of his being pitched over the head of his pony when the animal stepped into a gopher hole, while going at a round pace, was the means of bringing joy to the heart of a grieving old mother in a far-away Eastern State.
Strange that not one of them noticed a face that was pressed close to the corner of the open sash of the window in the back of the room, from time to time, a dark scowling face that was marked by glittering eyes, which seemed to be fastened on the little sprite of a girl whenever she danced across the floor.
No one dreamed of anything like danger, when the atmosphere seemed so calm and delightful. But then, that is the way things often go; and many times the gathering storm steals up unobserved, until there is a savage burst of thunder, accompanied by a vivid flash of lightning, startling every one by its sudden coming.
Finally Mrs. Ogden declared that the hour had grown late for little Becky to be up; and as was her custom, the winsome child went to each of the boys to kiss him goodnight.
After that Frank picked up a book, and interested himself in the story; while Andy, unable to tear himself away from his beloved camera work, started to print again, having another batch of proofs from which he had not as yet taken pictures.
The face at the window did not appear again after the housekeeper and little Becky left the living-room. It might be assumed from this that the spy without had lost all interest in the occupants when the child vanished from view.
Frank read on until he found his eyes growing heavy. Then with a yawn he tossed the book on the table. “Ten o’clock, Andy,” he remarked, as a gentle reminder.