Something in the eager, hungry way in which the girl spoke touched Cheerio and caused him suddenly to put his hand over the small one resting on her lap. His touch had an electrical effect upon the girl. She started to rise, catching her breath in almost a sob. She stood hesitating, trembling, her hand still held in that warm, comforting grasp. At that moment Cheerio would have given much to be alone with the girl. A few moments only of this thrilling possession of the little hand. Then it was wrenched passionately free. Hilda was regaining possession of her senses. The dusk had fallen deeply about them and he could not see her face, but he felt the quick, throbbing breath. A moment only she stayed, and then there was only the blur of her fleeing shadow in the night. Yet despite her going Cheerio felt strangely warmed and most intensely happy. He was acquiring a better knowledge and understanding of Hilda. Her odd moods, her chilling almost hostile attitude and speech no longer distressed him. Perhaps this might have been due to an amazing and most delicious explanation that her red-haired brother had vouchsafed:
“I guess my sister’s stuck on you,” had volunteered Sandy carelessly, whittling away at a stick, and utterly unconscious of the effect of his words on the alert Cheerio. “’Cause she swipes you to your face and throws a fit if anyone says a word about you behind your back.”
Little did that freckled-faced boy realize the amazing effects of his words. No further information in fact might have come from him at this juncture had not Cheerio flagrantly bribed him with “two bits.”
“Go on Sandy——”
“Go on with what?”
“About what you were saying about your sister.”
“Wa-al—” Sandy scratched his chin after the manner of his father, as he tried to recall some specific instance to prove his sister’s interest in the briber. “I said myself that you were a poor stiff and she says: ‘You judge everyone by yourself, don’t you?’ And then I heard her give Hello to Bully Bill, ’cause he said that Holy Smoke was the best rider at O Bar O and Hilda says: ‘Why, Cheerio can ride all around him and back again. He’s just a big piece of cheese.’ And I heard Ho himself makin’ fun of you ’bout takin’ baths every day and ’bout your boiled Sunday shirts, and Hilda says to him: ‘’Twouldn’t be a bad idea if you took a leaf or two out of his book yourself; only you’ll need to stay in the river when you do get there, though it’ll be hard on the river.’ And another time I heard her say to Bully Bill when he was referrin’ to you as a vodeveel act, that time they put you to breakin’ Spitfire, she says: ‘Wonder what you’d look like yourself on his back? Wonder if you’d stay on. Spitfire’s pretty slippery, you know, and you’re no featherweight,’ and Bully Bill says: ‘Hell, I ain’t no tenderfoot,’ and she says: ‘’Course not. You’re a hard-boiled pig’s foot,’ and before he could sass her back—if he dared and he don’t dare, neither, she was off into the house and had banged the door on him. You know Hilda. Gee!”
Yes, he was beginning to know Hilda!
CHAPTER X
Holy Smoke was strong as an ox and had the reputation of phenomenal deeds done “across the line,” where to use his own boasts “they did things brown.” It is true, he had come hastily out of that particular part of the American union, with a posse at his heels. He had secured a berth at O Bar O in a busy season, when help was scarce and work heavy. His big physique stood him in good stead when it came to a matter of endurance, though he was too heavy for swift riding, needed for breaking horses or cutting out cattle. However, there was no man in the country could beat him at lariat throwing and he was generally esteemed a first-rate hand. His last name was actually “Smoke,” and his first initial “H” it did not take the men long to dub him “Holy Smoke” though he was more shortly called “Ho.”