[CHAPTER XIV]
THE FIRST VISIT OF DAVE DAVIS
“It seems ages since the boys left for the round-up,” remarked Bess to Mrs. West, one afternoon, as they sat sewing. “When do you think they will be home?”
Folding the soft, white cloth, which seemed to accentuate the dark-skinned hands, Mrs. West paused a moment before answering.
“Um, well, let me see! They started about ten days ago. They ought to be through on Sullivan Creek by this time, and then to Dayton Creek and home. Perhaps in four days more.”
“Well, when they come, I think they will discover two things. One, that I have wasted heaps of ammunition, and two—that I can ‘hit the spot’ three times—almost,” laughingly replied Bess, as she sat near the window, unconsciously lifting some faded American Beauty roses from a vase. As if suddenly commanding her thoughts, she gave the flowers such a vigorous thrust back into their receptacle that the water flew into her face.
“Why girlie—what a way to treat your poor roses!” said Mrs. West.
Half ashamed and half defiantly Bess turned. “Why did not Mr. Davis send the roses to you? You were the one who cared for him. He seems to have forgotten that, and I’d like to remind him of it, too,” she said, with a flash in her eye.
“Well, the opportunity is at hand; but please don’t,” replied Mrs. West, for just then she saw Mr. Davis ride into the yard.
So completely was Bess surprised at the unexpected appearance of the subject of her thoughts, that she strove in vain to cover her embarrassment. Hot blood rushed to her cheeks. Fragrant, waving, brown hair half shielded her eyes, and for once she was glad of its unruly fluffiness.