“Not this morning, Mrs.—er—Tubbs, is it? Sister Tubbs? I am glad to have met you.” He met her huge hand with a warm clasp of his own. “When we get started here, I am sure I can depend on your aid and good wishes?”
“Youbetcha!” exclaimed the old woman. “And you’ll see me in one of the front seats—mebbe in two of ’em if they ain’t bigger than usual,” she added with twinkling eyes.
He laughed boyishly, lifting the dilapidated old hat to both Mother Tubbs and the girl as he turned the corner of the shack. The old woman looked down admonishingly at Nell Blossom.
“You weren’t a mite perlite to the minister, Nell,” she complained.
CHAPTER IX—A BEGINNING
That eastern mountain range was all etched with rose color now as Hunt went back to the hotel. But the town had scarcely quieted after its night’s revelry. Inebriates were still dribbling along the streets from the all-night places.
He thought of Nell Blossom. She certainly was a flower in the mire of Canyon Pass. Joe Hurley had written none too enthusiastically about the girl, as far as concerned her beauty. And although Hunt was by no means given to impulsive judgments, he knew there was a refined atmosphere about the girl despite her gruff independence of manner and speech.
His return to the hotel was unheralded save by the cheerful grin of Cholo Sam, the Mexican proprietor of the hostelry, who was sluicing out the barroom.
“Some morning, thees, Señor Hunt.” He flashed a tentative, toothful smile toward the array of bottles behind his bar. “Weel you have one leetle drink, Señor? A ‘pick-my-up,’ you call eet, eh?”
“Coffee, Sam,” replied Hunt briskly, acknowledging the offer in the spirit it was meant. “Coffee only—and perhaps a bit of bread with it. Service for two, please. My sister will want some. Will you bring it up?”