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My name was Captain Kidd as I sailed As I sailed, My name was Captain Kidd, As I sailed! My name was Captain Kidd And most wickedly I di-i-id All holy laws forbid As I sailed! |
The confessor of superlative wickedness droned his avowal in diminishing volume as the burros pattered along the white dust of the valley road, then the curve to the west hid them, and all was silence but for the rustle of the wind in the mesquite and the far bay of Singleton’s hounds circling a coyote.
But Pat pricked up his ears, and lifted his head as if feeling rather than hearing the growing thud of coming hoofs. The girl waited until they were within fifty feet, when she pursed up her lips and whistled the call of the meadow lark. It sounded like a fairy bugle call across the morning, and the roan was halted quickly at the forks of the road.
“Howdy, señorita?” he called softly. “I can’t see you, but your song beats the birds. Got a flag of truce? Willing to parley with the enemy?”
Then she emerged, eyeing him sulkily.
“You were going without seeing me!” she stated with directness, and without notice of the quizzical smile of comradeship.
“Certainly was,” he agreed. “When I got through the scrap with your disciple of kultur, my mug didn’t strike me as the right decoration for a maiden’s bower. I rode out of the scrap with my scratches, taking joy and comfort in the fact that he had to be carried.”
“There was no reason for your being so––so brutal!” she decided austerely.
“Lord love you, child, I didn’t need a reason––I only wanted an excuse. Give me credit! I got away for fear I’d go loco and smash Singleton for interfering.”
“Papa Phil only did his duty, standing for peace.”