“I’m always hungry when Mrs. Budd gives me an invitation to eat,” he answered, smiling. “She’s the best cook in Nevada, and a two-bit restaurant doesn’t draw me a-tall on those glad occasions.”
It was on the tip of Mrs. Budd’s sharp tongue to say that the company at her table might have something to do with that, but since she was manœuvring to bring about a certain match between two young people present she refrained from comment.
Hugh did very well on steak, roast wild duck, potatoes, home-made bread, honey, and dried-apple pie. It is probable that he did not enjoy himself less because a young woman sat opposite him whose dark eyes flashed soft lights of happiness at him and whose voice played like sweet music on his heart.
Mrs. Budd was urging on him another piece of pie when Bennie ran in with news.
“Dad’s comin’ down the road with two other men,” he shouted in a lifted key of youthful excitement.
Hugh retired to the garret.
Sheriff Budd came wheezing into the house followed by his deputies. “Seen anything of Hugh McClintock?” he asked his wife.
“Where would I see him? I haven’t been out of the house,” his plump helpmate answered tartly.
“Well, I got to search the house. Some folks seem to think he’s here.”
“What’s he done?” asked Vicky.