Upon their blissful dream, a harsh voice broke. Even as they drew apart, still heavy with the lassitude of the new rapture they had but just discovered, they dimly recognized the voice of Bull Langdon. From somewhere in the direction of the corrals, he was calling for his "hands." They could hear him cursing, and knew he must have ridden up noiselessly, and annoyed at finding no one about the place was venting his temper in this fashion.
"Oh, my!" murmured Nettie, drawing half out of Cyril's arms and unconsciously leaning towards him, "he'll be wantin' you, Cyril."
"Let'm want," said the boy, hungry again to feel the touch of those warm lips upon his own. "I'm not workin' nights for no man, and if he ain't satisfied, I guess I can quit any old time now. You say the word when, Nettie. I'm ready for you, girl. And Nettie—give us another kiss, will you?"
"Oh, Cyril, I got to get to the house. Mrs. Langdon's gone to bed, and he'll be lookin' for something to eat, and it's not her place to get his meals when I'm here to do the work."
"You won't have to work for no one but me soon, Nettie. I'll take care of you for the rest of your days. Nettie, I never kissed a girl before. That is true as God."
"Neither did I—never kissed a fellow."
"Kiss me again, then."
This time she remained in his arms for a moment only as the clamorous voice of Bull Langdon was heard close at hand, his words, causing Nettie to tear herself away in fear.
"Where's that gell? Why ain't she on her job?"
Nettie clambered up the slope of the coulees and went running across the grass to the house. As she paused at the wide opened door, her basket still on her arm, Bull Langdon, now in his seat, his legs stretched out before him, turned around to stare at her, his fierce, covetous glance, as always, holding her fascinated and breathless with vague terror.