Suddenly Tad sprang forward into the open door of the kitchen.
“Coffee’s b’ilin’ over!” he bellowed over his shoulder.
Shorty, left on the threshold, shoved his aching arms higher in the air and gazed with agonized eyes into the twin barrels of Ma Basset’s raised shotgun.
Tad now appeared in the doorway, holding aloft the steaming coffee pot as proof of his good intentions.
“—— a’mighty, yuh big lummox,” groaned Shorty. “Yuh like tuh got me killed.”
There was that in the appearance of the two partners to cause even the stoniest hearted to smile. Shorty, his swollen eye a sickly green, tanned face perspiring and red from suppressed emotion and embarrassment, gazing beseechingly at his partner. Tad, his homely, rough-hewn features wreathed in an infectious grin, holding aloft the huge granite-ware coffee pot.
“Shucks, Hank,” muttered Ma Basset in an undertone of relief, “them two boys ain’t no badmen. Why that pore little feller is nigh scared tuh death. Don’t suppose he ever hurt a livin’ thing in his hull life. My gracious but that big ’un did give me a start when he tore into the house thataway. I was sure certain he was aimin’ to make a fight of it. Lawzee!”
The elderly couple did not relax their vigilance, however, until breakfast was well on its way.
Tad, with his unaffected, loquacious manner, did much to quell suspicion. He insisted on putting on an apron and helping with the breakfast, all the while keeping up an aimless chatter with the lady of the house. More than often he had her chuckling gaily.
Shorty, in the front room with Hank, told a straightforward story of their sojourn in Alder Gulch.