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"I have had great success in cases like this with powdered ice not using too much, of course; just shave the ice gently and rub it over the eggs one at a time; it will often result in refreshing the attention of the hen." Dicksie looked grave. "Aren't you ashamed to make fun of me?" Whispering Smith seemed taken aback. "Is it really serious business?" "Of course." "Very good.
Vague talk of an extensive irrigation scheme planned by Sinclair for the Crawling Stone Valley crept into the newspapers, and it was generally understood that Lance Dunning had expressed himself favorably to the enterprise. Dicksie gave slight heed to matters as weighty as these.
"I told him to send him over here. It is Wickwire." "Wickwire," repeated Whispering Smith. "Wickwire has no business here that I know of; no doubt it is something I ought to know of. And, by the way, you ought to see this man," he said, turning again to Dicksie. "If McCloud tells the story right, Wickwire is a sort of protégé of yours, Miss Dicksie, though neither of you seems to have known it.
Dicksie Dunning was away at school at the time, and Lance Dunning was celebrating with a riding and shooting fest and a barbecue. The whole country had been invited. Bucks was in the mountains on an inspection trip, and Bill Dancing drove him with a party of railroad men over from Medicine Bend. The mountain men for a hundred and fifty miles around were out.
Dicksie checked her horse. "I owe you a double debt of gratitude," he added, "and I am anxious to assure you that we desire nothing that will injure your interests in any way in crossing your lands." "I know nothing about those matters, because my cousin manages everything. It is growing late and you have a good way to go, so good-night."
For a few minutes Dicksie fingered wildly on the piano at some half-forgotten air, and in a fever of excitement walked out on the porch to see where they were. To her relief, she saw Marion sitting near Sinclair under the big tree in front of the house, where the horses stood.
She spent much of her time on horseback, with Jim under the saddle; and in Medicine Bend, where she rode with frequency, Marion's shop became her favorite abiding-place. Dicksie ordered hats until Marion's conscience rose and she practically refused to supply any more.
The store building is still pointed out as the former shop of Marion Sinclair, where George McCloud boarded when the Crawling Stone Line was built, where Whispering Smith might often have been seen, where Sinclair himself was last seen alive in Medicine Bend, where Dicksie Dunning's horse dragged her senseless one wild mountain night, and where, indeed, for a time the affairs of the whole mountain division seemed to tangle in very hard knots.
If she was uncertain in manner, he was not. He met her, laughing just enough to relieve the tension of which both for an instant were conscious. She gave him her hand when he put his out, though he felt that it trembled a little. "Such a ride as you have had! Why did you not send me word? I would have come to you!" he exclaimed, throwing reproach into the words. Dicksie raised her eyes.
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