“I'll look after your things, Miss Peck,” called Tommy, now springing down from his horse. The egg tragedy had momentarily stunned him.
“You'll attend to the mail first, Mr. Postmaster!” said the lady, but favoring him with a look from her large eyes. “There's plenty of gentlemen here.” With that her glance favored Lin. She went into the cabin, he following her close, with the Taylors and myself in the rear. “Well, I guess I'm about collapsed!” said she, vigorously, and sank upon one of Tommy's chairs.
The fragile article fell into sticks beneath her, and Lin leaped to her assistance. He placed her upon a firmer foundation. Mrs. Taylor brought a basin and towel to bathe the dust from her face, Mr. Taylor produced whiskey, and I found sugar and hot water. Tommy would doubtless have done something in the way of assistance or restoratives, but he was gone to the stable with the horses.
“Shall I get your medicine from the valise, deary?” inquired Mrs. Taylor.
“Not now,” her visitor answered; and I wondered why she should take such a quick look at me.
“We'll soon have yu' independent of medicine,” said Lin, gallantly. “Our climate and scenery here has frequently raised the dead.”
“You're a case, anyway!” exclaimed the sick lady with rich conviction.
The cow-puncher now sat himself on the edge of Tommy's bed, and, throwing one leg across the other, began to raise her spirits with cheerful talk. She steadily watched him—his face sometimes, sometimes his lounging, masculine figure. While he thus devoted his attentions to her, Taylor departed to help Tommy at the stable, and good Mrs. Taylor, busy with supper for all of us in the kitchen, expressed her joy at having her old friend of childhood for a visit after so many years.
“Sickness has changed poor Katie some,” said she. “But I'm hoping she'll get back her looks on Bear Creek.”
“She seems less feeble than I had understood,” I remarked.