“You can’t help me none, mister,” replied Nell brusquely.
“I scarcely think you need help,” said Hunt, smiling. “But this unfortunate——”
“‘Unfortunate’ is right!” repeated the girl. “Sam Tubbs is so unfortunate that it would be money right now in his pocket if he’d never been born. If I leave him here some of those cheap hangers-on of the Grub Stake or Colorado’s place will roll him for all he has in his jeans. And Mother Tubbs needs what he’s got left of his pay—believe me!”
“Where does he live?”
“Where I do. Down the lane a ways.”
“I think we can get him there,” said Hunt, and without further ado he stooped, got a grip on Sam Tubbs, and proceeded to throw him over his shoulder like a sack of meal.
The girl’s eyes grew round. For the first time she expressed some appreciation—perhaps a little admiration—for his friendliness.
“You wasn’t behind the door when they were passing out muscle,” she remarked. “Well, come on. I’ll show you the way.”
The now slumbering Sam Tubbs was scarcely a heavy burden, and to Hunt the task of carrying him was slight. He was considerably amused as well as interested in the girl. It was quite apparent that she did not know he was the new parson. Evidently she had not been in the crowd the day before that had welcomed the coming of the tenderfoot preacher and his sister to Canyon Pass.
Hunt was studying her face now with more than amusement, although her bluff manner of speech and utterly independent air made Nell Blossom a revelation of a new phase of femininity to him. Her speech, in the first place, did not accord with her beauty, nor, indeed, with the natural refinement expressed in her countenance.