"Ah, de Señor Brown—bueno! Dey vas just children to you even ven dey fight, hey? It vas good to see such tings doin', just like de play."
She circled swiftly up toward him, a happy bird of gay, fluttering plumage, pressing her fingers almost caressingly along the swelling muscle of his arm, and gazing with earnest admiration up into his face. Beneath the witching spell of her eyes the man's cheeks reddened. He took the way of savagery out of unexpected embarrassment.
"Th-that 's enough, now, Swanson," he commanded, the stutter largely vanishing before the requirement of deeds. "Th-this is no c-continuous vaudeville, an' ther curtain's rung d-down on yer act. Mike, yer ol' varmint, if yer do any more swearin' while ther lady's yere I 'll knock ther words back down yer throat. Yer know me, so shut up. Th-thar'll be fightin' in p-plenty fer both o' yer presently, the way things look. Now, vamoose, the two o' yer, an' be quiet about it. Mike, y-yer better do something fer yer eyes if yer wanter see well 'nough ter take a pot-shot at Farnham's gang."
The two discomfited combatants slouched off unwillingly enough, but the slender white fingers of the Mexican remained clasping the speaker's arm, her upturned face filled with undisguised enthusiasm. Brown, after pretending to watch the fighters disappear, glanced uneasily down into her wondrous dark eyes, shuffling his feet awkwardly, his appearance that of a bashful boy. Mercedes laughed out of the depths of a heart apparently untroubled.
"My, but eet vas so ver' big, señor. See! I cannot make de fingers to go round—no, no. I nevah see such arm—nevah. But you no care? You vas dat great big all over, hey? Sapristi! who de woman help like such a big Americano?"
"B-but that ain't it, M-M-M-Mercedes," blurted out the perturbed giant, in desperation. "I-I want yer t-t-ter love me."
"No comprende, señor."
"O-oh, yes yer do. L-Lord! didn't I t-tell it all ter yer s-s-straight 'nough last n-night? Maybe I ain't m-much on ther t-talk, but I r-reckon I sh-sh-shot that all right. C-can't yer make over th-that like inter l-love somehow?"
She released her clasp upon his arm, her eyes drooping behind their long lashes, the merry laughter fading from her lips.
"Dat vas not von bit nice of you, señor. Vy you ever keep bodder me so, ven I good to you? No, I tol' you not ask me dat so quick soon again. Did I not do dis? I tol' you den I know not; I meet you only de twice—how I lofe ven I meet you only de twice?"