“I wish this fellow would stray our way,” he added. “We’re going to be in need of extra hands 132 when threshing comes, and it won’t be long now. Dad would welcome him all right.”
Vivian stared at Donald, incredulous and speechless. There was no need of asking him if he meant what he had just said. Apparently that horrible creature back there by the creek, the very remembrance of whom caused cold shivers to run over Vivian, would be given a welcome by the Keith family. Vivian’s nose, already a trifle high, rose higher. Democracy was unquestionably a splendid attribute. Since knowing Virginia and coming West, she was more inclined to believe in it than ever. But this was too much!
An hour later they were riding homeward, their hands filled with gentians. Donald and Jack had ridden back with them to the ford to act as protectors, and, Vivian secretly believed, to interview the hobo, were he still there, upon the subject of threshing. But only an empty bean-can and the charred remnants of a fire bore evidence of the wayfarer. He had gone! Reassured, they had gathered gentians to their hearts’ content, left the boys upon the prairie, and ridden homeward. 133
Mr. Hunter came to meet them as they rode beneath the cottonwoods.
“Crusoe,” he called to some one on the other side of the porch, “here’s your first job! Take these horses to the corral.”
An attempt to describe the sensations which swept over Mary and Vivian when they recognized their acquaintance of the morning would be impossible. Unable for a moment to dismount, they sat in their saddles and stared. Mr. Crusoe, undoubtedly sensible of their surprise, patted Siwash, who responded gladly in spite of black whiskers and a battered hat. Mr. Hunter, thinking that the flowers might be the reason of their delay, relieved them of the gentians. Mary and Vivian, thus assisted, finally fell from the saddles, and followed Mr. Hunter to the porch.
“Mr. Hunter,” gasped Vivian when the new man had taken the horses, “do you know who he is? He’s a hobo! Donald said so! We met him this morning down at the ford—Mary and I. He scared us almost to death! He had washed a shirt and it was drying on the bushes, and he ate canned 134 beans for breakfast right out of the can with a dirty, bent, old fork. He was lying under a tree and smoking a hideous pipe as we rode up! I never was so horrified in all my life! And, Mr. Hunter, he took off his hat and spoke to us! I thought we’d die! Siwash would eat the bushes, and I thought we’d never escape! He’s not going to stay here after he has something to eat, is he, Mr. Hunter? You don’t know how awful he is!”
Vivian stopped—merely for breath. Mr. Hunter with a mighty effort repressed a smile. Mary was torn between a desire to play fair and the awful remembrance of her fright. She said nothing.
“Vivian,” said Mr. Hunter, “out here we’ve learned not to judge persons by whether or not they wash in the creek and eat canned beans. I’m sorry Crusoe frightened you. He isn’t exactly captivating in appearance, I’ll admit, but, from what I can gather, he seems to be a pretty good sort. Any man’s worth a try-out, you know. He’s looking for work, and now that threshing is coming on I’m looking for an extra man, so he’s going to stay 135 here a spell. These fellows who take to the road, you see, fill a great need out here in this country. We depend on one or more of them showing up about this time of year.”
Vivian was still staring, unable to speak. Mary, desirous that Mr. Crusoe should not misunderstand their flight, explained the affair to Mr. Hunter, a little more rationally than Vivian had done.