“I can allus git extra food thataway,” he grinned. “Honey ain’t very strong. Too ⸺ much ’magination, I’d say.”
They finished their supper and went down to the bunk-house. Slim wanted to play pitch. Hashknife declined to be a party to any card arguments; so he stayed out of the game and went back to the ranch-house, where he found Wong Lee serving supper to Peggy and Laura.
No reference was made to Slim’s statement about the reward, but it was rather difficult to find any conversation that did not connect with the troubles of Tumbling River. Laura essayed a few pieces of music on the old upright organ, while Peggy curled up in an old rocker, her chin on one hand. Hashknife sprawled on the sofa, his long legs crossed, while the blue smoke curled up from his cigaret.
“Don’t you sing, Hashknife?” Laura turned on the stool and looked at Hashknife.
“Yeah, I sing—sometimes.”
“Come and sing us a song.”
“No-o-o-o, I don’t think so, Laura. I’m what you’d call an absent-minded singer. I never sing when I know just what I’m doin’.”
“Joe used to sing,” said Peggy simply.
“And he had a good voice, too,” added Laura.
There was a long period of silence. Finally Hashknife got to his feet and stood there for a long time, deep in thought. The two girls watched him curiously. Suddenly he looked at them, and a smile spread across his face.