When Lightning was disturbed he was like the threat of an active volcano, and just as liable to break out into violence. On the other hand, he had unique powers of dissimulation when his passions were sufficiently under control. In his crude way he was as cunning as an old dog fox.
It was like that now as he sat on the box outside McFardell’s doorway. It was the same box which had so recently supported the more delicate burden of Molly. A bland smiling amiability had apparently replaced his recent furious mood.
McFardell was again occupying the up-turned bucket, from which he had gazed so hotly upon the appealing figure of Molly. He had made no attempt, in the interim between the coming and going of his visitors, to proceed with his promised chorework. For all his antipathy to the man he had even found excuse in Lightning’s visit.
The old man’s announcement on arrival had been carefully considered, and the manner of it had possessed a calculated sarcasm.
“We’re out after ‘strays,’” he declared, with a laugh. “Molly’s out one way, an’ I’m out another. Our cows is missin’. Molly guesses they’re ‘stray.’ Guess you ain’t picked up a bunch around this valley?”
McFardell shook his head, while he searched the other’s grinning face.
“Not a sign,” he said.
Meanwhile Lightning had dismounted and loosened the cinchas of his saddle, which was his way of forcing the other to offer hospitality.
“Have you eaten?” McFardell inquired without enthusiasm.
“Surely.” Lightning lied deliberately. He had no desire to eat under this man’s roof. “But I’ll sit awhile,” he added quickly. “You see, I ain’t on any party visit, an’ I ain’t guessin’ to locate them cows around this valley. I’ve come right along to yarn some.”