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And it was faint so faint indeed that perhaps the noises of the storm since they had left port had quite smothered the queer sound. "A clock?" Frenchy suggested. "Funny sounding clock," whispered Ikey Rosenmeyer. "And where can it be?" "Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Tick-tock!" The emphasis upon the second division of the sound was unmistakable. It did not seem like any clock the boys had ever heard.
Just think o' Sim gettin' the dirty gae-bye frae a glaikit lassie hauf his age; and no' his equal in the three parishes, wi' a leg to tak' the ee o' a hal dancin'-school, and auld Knapdale's money comin' till him whenever Knapdale's gane, and I'm hearin' he's in the deid-thraws already. Ill fa' the day fotch the Frenchy!
"I hope almighty hard that we don't have no stampedes on this here drive. If th' last herds go wild they'll pick up th' others, an' then there'll be th' devil to pay." Frenchy smiled again and shot a glance at where Mr. Trendley was bound to the cabin wall. Buck looked steadily southward for some time and then flecked a foam-sud from the flank of his horse.
"I thought th' artillery was comin' into th' disturbance. I could see yore red head " "MY red head!" exclaimed Hopalong, sizing up the crimson warlock of his companion. "MY red head!" he repeated, and then turned to Frenchy: "Hey, Frenchy, who's got th' reddest hair, me or Red?" Frenchy slowly turned in his saddle and gravely scrutinized them.
This put the old plainsman in rare good humor and he exclaimed in the cowboy vernacular which had become second nature to him "Then it wouldn't be absurd to proclaim myself king some day? Just imagine it, Frenchy; Don Madariaga, the First. . . . The worst of it all is that I would also be the last, for the China will not give me a son. . . . She is a weak cow!"
Even when the young girl had picked up her book with the usual faint smile of affectionate tolerance, and then drifted away in its pages, Mr. Nott chuckled audibly. "I reckon old Frenchy didn't come by when the young one was bedevlin' you there." "What, father?" said Rosey, lifting her abstracted eyes to his face.
A Frenchy, a risque city it might justly have been called, but it was not wicked in the sense that sordid vice, vulgar crime and wretched squalor constitute wickedness. It was a lovable place that everybody longed to get back to, once having been there. A woman, leaving it for years, watched it from the ferryboat, and, weeping, said, "San Francisco, oh, my San Francisco, I am leaving thee."
"When it gets so I can't go where I please I'll start on th' warpath. I won't buck the cavalry, but I'll keep it busy huntin' for me an' I'll have time to 'tend to th' wire-fence men, too. Why, we'll be told we can't tote our guns!" "They're sayin' that now," replied Frenchy. "Up in Buffalo, Smith, who's now marshal, makes yu leave 'em with th' bartenders."
I dashed aft myself meeting on my way a hard gust of wind whose approach Gambril's ear had detected from afar and which filled the sails on the main in a series of muffled reports mingled with the low plaint of the spars. I was just in time to seize the wheel while Frenchy who had followed me caught up the collapsing Gambril.
Daddy's ruffled tempers are never proof against my method of smoothing the raging seas. My arm around his neck and a kiss will make him eat out of my hand, as Harry Lawrence puts it. Naturally he succumbed again and in a minute was just as nice as ever. We had only just finished our supper when Frenchy came in, leading his little boy by the hand.
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