“I never did believe in these here private irrigation projects,” said Brown. “And I don't believe you're the man to put this one through.” He drew back the hammer of the gun.
“Say—it's loaded, Mr. Brown—” cried Bunny. “Look out!”
“Of course it's loaded. I wouldn't insult you by thinking you packed an empty gun. You keep moving at a reasonable rate of speed and you can be counting the lamp-posts in Alvarado tomorrow night,—seven on Main Street, and four on Prairie Avenue. You're wasting your time here.... No,—you don't need to go down to the Mountain House—you can start here!”
“Say, she's owing me money, Mr. Brown. A man wants what lie's earned, don't he?” said Bunny meekly, but disposed to raise an issue.
“Of course he does,—but he don't want what he ain't earned.” Brown looked at him with weary petulance. “Ain't you open to a hunch?” The muzzle of the gun menaced Bunny, who fell back a step in consternation, ducked, turned and fled shamelessly.
Brown returned to his cabin feeling that he had permanently eliminated the fascinating Mr. Bunny, and evidences of a certain austere pleasure radiated from his damaged features. But though the hour arrived when Johnny Severance should have come striding down the path from the Red Bird, head thrown back and shoulders squared as he swung his cap and dinner pail, it brought no Johnny; and Brown, disturbed and wondering, set out alone for the straggle of buildings on the bench.
He found two anxious-faced women at the Mountain House; the eyes of each were red from much weeping, and he surmised that there had been a crisis—that his well-intentioned interference had been too long delayed—and he suffered a moment of intense humiliation. He had figured creditably in more than one strenuous human drama, but never before had he to reproach himself with being dilatory. It gave him a unique sensation.
Supper was eaten in dreary silence. At first Miss Mollie had attempted to talk to her guest, but her voice was forced and unnatural and now and again trailed off into what sounded very like a sob, while Mollie's big blue eyes were misted lakes of sorrow. In the presence of their grief Brown was stricken into speechless shyness. He felt that the feminine soul was a curious and an awesome thing; he stood close to it with trepidation. But he did not lack a certain deep integrity,—he would see this thing through to a finish.
After supper he hung around the office, where presently Miss Mollie joined him. He sensed it that his hostess was only anxious to have him go, yet he lingered, perturbed and ill at ease. At last he cleared his throat.
“I don't see nothing of Mr. Severance,” he remarked with diffidence, as one who had encroached on a forbidden subject.