“Snake, hadn't I ought to take a bite of grub over to the gurl?” asked Wilson.
“Do you hev to ask me thet?” snapped Anson. “She's gotta be fed, if we hev to stuff it down her throat.”
“Wal, I ain't stuck on the job,” replied Wilson. “But I'll tackle it, seein' you-all got cold feet.”
With plate and cup be reluctantly approached the little lean-to, and, kneeling, he put his head inside. The girl, quick-eyed and alert, had evidently seen him coming. At any rate, she greeted him with a cautious smile.
“Jim, was I pretty good?” she whispered.
“Miss, you was shore the finest aktress I ever seen,” he responded, in a low voice. “But you dam near overdid it. I'm goin' to tell Anson you're sick now—poisoned or somethin' awful. Then we'll wait till night. Dale shore will help us out.”
“Oh, I'm on fire to get away,” she exclaimed. “Jim Wilson, I'll never forget you as long as I live!”
He seemed greatly embarrassed.
“Wal—miss—I—I'll do my best licks. But I ain't gamblin' none on results. Be patient. Keep your nerve. Don't get scared. I reckon between me an' Dale you'll git away from heah.”
Withdrawing his head, he got up and returned to the camp-fire, where Anson was waiting curiously.