She was a gigantic creature—a good deal bigger than the cowboy who had befriended the girls. Dorothy saw at once that she had a very kindly face, despite her masculine appearance.
“I vow!” she said, starting. “Ladies with you, Lance?”
“Yep. And they want to git on to Killock to-night. They’ll tell you all about it. I’m goin’ to rout out that thar key-pusher.”
“He’s in Number Six,” said Mrs. Little. Then to the girls: “Come in. Gals are yere erbout as often as angels—an’ I ain’t never hearn their wings yit.”
Dorothy and Tavia entered—yet not without some hesitancy. The room was large, and almost bare of furnishings. There was a broad bed, and on it Mrs. Little had been lying. But there was no other occupant of it, or of the room.
There was a small cookstove, a chest of drawers, a clock on the shelf, and a picture of Washington crossing the Delaware on the wall. One rocker had a tidy on the back of it, but the other plain deal chairs were entirely undecorated.
The woman herself, however, drew Dorothy Dale’s attention. She was very curious as to what manner of creature she could be—this masculine and gruff spoken female.
In the lamplight Dorothy had a better view of Mrs. Little’s face. Mrs. Little did not have a single pretty or attractive feature, but the girl from the East would have trusted her with anything she possessed!
Mrs. Little looked closely into the faces of both girls. She saw something shining in Dorothy’s eyes.
“Why, chile!” she gasped. “You ain’t re’lly afraid, be yuh?”