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Updated: June 15, 2025
For the present, it delighted them to think that their secret was all their own, and no one suspected it, except Dicksie, the vicar's hunchback son, whom Alfred had taken into his confidence.
Dicksie asked herself if this could be the man about whom floated so many accusations of coldness and cruelty and death. He drew a note-book from a waistcoat pocket. "Oh, it's in the note-book! There comes the black note-book," exclaimed McCloud. "Don't make fun of my note-book!" "I shouldn't dare." McCloud pointed to it as he spoke to Dicksie.
She was riding a trail leading from the pass road that followed the hills, and the party was coming up the bridge road from the lower ranch. Dicksie had good eyes, and something unusual in the riding of the men was soon apparent to her.
"I shall be going with you, shall I not? And if the messenger has gone back I shall have to guide you. You never could find your way alone." "But I can go," interposed Marion, rising. "Not at all; you can not go!" announced Dicksie. "I can protect both Mr. McCloud and myself. If he should arrive down there under the wing of two women he would never hear the last of it.
She slipped from her head the shell that held her knotted hair. He caught her hand and kissed it, and she could not get it away. "You are dear," murmured Dicksie, "if you are silly. The reason I wouldn't let you ride home with me is because I was afraid you might get shot. How do you suppose I should feel if you were killed? Or don't you think I have any feeling?" "But, Dicksie, is it all right?"
"I never offered you a piece of chicken! What have I been thinking of?" "Oh, I wouldn't eat it anyway!" cried Dicksie. "You wouldn't? It is delicious. Do have a plate and a wing at least." "Really, I could not bear to think of it," she said pathetically. He spoke lower. "Something is troubling you. I have no right to a confidence, I know," he added, taking a biscuit. Her eyes fell to the floor.
"You are worried over something," she murmured; "I can see it in your face." "Nothing more than usual. I thrive, you know, on trouble and I'm sorry to say good-night so early, but I have a long ride ahead." He stepped quietly past McCloud and out of the door. Wickwire was thanking Dicksie when unwillingly she let Whispering Smith's hand slip out of her own.
The odor of musk became in an instant sickening. Dicksie threw the music disdainfully aside, and sprang up with a flushed face to leave the room. Sinclair's remark about the first woman to cross his threshold came back to her. From that moment Dicksie hated him. But no sooner had she seated herself on the porch than she remembered she had left her hat in the house, and rose to go in after it.
But we may as well talk plainly." Smith looked at Dicksie. "You are as brave and as game as a girl can be, I know, or you couldn't have done this. Sacks full of sand, with the boys at the ranch to handle them, would do no more good to-morrow at the bend than bladders. The river is flowing into Squaw Lake above there now.
Where is the baking powder? I'll get the biscuits started." Puss turned fiercely. "Now look-a heah, yo' can't make biscuits! Yo' jes' go se' down wif dat young gen'm'n! Jes' lemme lone, ef yo' please! Dis ain't de firs' time I killed chickens, Miss Dicksie, an' made biscuits. Jes' clair out an' se' down! Place f'r young ladies is in de parlor!
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