“Oh! here you are; where did you hide?” cried little “Peter Pan,” as she ran forward to meet her favorite.
“Put ‘Peter Pan’ on the horse and let her ride,” said Bess, in the way of an introduction to Henry West. He lifted the child gently and placed her in the saddle, carefully guarding her lest she fall. The child was watching the dark features of her companion with an apprehensive look. As he held her for a moment in his arms when she dismounted, she softly touched the bronze cheek with her fingers, and said: “I like you, even if you are—so much darker—than my Uncle Jim,” and slid, half afraid, out of his clasp and ran to her mother’s side, her eyes following him.
As soon as Mr. Davis found an opportunity amid all the confusion of introductions and greeting and clamorous talk, he stood near Bess and said: “Really, I had begun to think you had fled to your ‘wick-i-up’ and were not coming to see me at all. Your disguise was scarcely sufficient, for I knew you instantly and tried to carry out your joke, but you were too hasty.”
Bess suddenly let the blanket fall from her shoulders to the ground and faced Mr. Davis squarely. She looked into his eyes searchingly; beyond them she gazed till her accusing glance penetrated his very soul. Without the tremor of an eyelash her search was answered by a look as steady and firm as her own. At last a smile broke upon her lips as she said: “I did—did half imagine that you really thought—you were talking to an Indian.”
“They are too uninteresting to me even to stop to speak to,” he reassured her, and was glad that further explanation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. George and “Uncle Jim.”
Soon all were enjoying the delicious birds, done to a turn by the efficient chef. Perhaps no one of the merry company, except Bess, noticed the reticence of Henry West, who sat beside her. She quietly gave his hand a little squeeze as she passed him the salt, which sent the blood pounding through his heart till he felt it could surely be heard by the others.
In spite of the many earnest requests to remain, James and Henry declared that they must hurry on to rejoin the rest of the bunch who were on the round-up. Dave Davis, the Indian agent, also took his departure after several futile attempts to speak with Bess alone.
The rest of the day was busy with cleaning guns, greasing the wheels and loading the wagon, preparatory for the long trip to Sullivan Creek on the morrow, which would in all probability take two or three days.