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Updated: May 24, 2025
Annixter explained that it was Hilma's birthday, and that he had planned a picnic on the high ground of his ranch, at the headwaters of Broderson Creek. They were to go in the carry-all, Hilma, Presley, Mrs. Dyke, Sidney, and himself, and were to make a day of it. They would leave Quien Sabe at ten in the morning. Presley had at once resolved to go.
"Now we must sign our names;" and after much discussion and laughter the twelve names appeared on the paper, written in a circle without any beginning or end, Sigrid's and Hilma's and Oscar's and Gerda's and all. "Put it in the box and we'll nail on the cover," cried Oscar, picking up the hammer and pounding as if he were driving a dozen nails at once.
It had occurred to him that it would not do to present himself at Quien Sabe on Hilma's birthday, empty-handed, and, on leaving Genslinger's house, he turned his pony's head toward the business part of the town again pulling up in front of the jeweller's, just as the clerk was taking down the shutters.
Rather than to take his arm from around Hilma's waist he would have lost his whole stable. At last, however, he bestirred himself and began to talk. He thought it time to formulate some plan of action. "Well, now, Hilma, what are we going to do?" "Do?" she repeated. "Why, must we do anything? Oh, isn't this enough?" "There's better ahead," he went on.
Hilma's little triumph was immediate, complete. Annixter could hear her voice from time to time, its usual velvety huskiness vibrating to a note of exuberant gayety. All at once the orchestra swung off into a march the Grand March. There was a great rush to secure "partners." Young Vacca, still going the rounds, was pushed to one side.
Marriage had only accentuated the beautiful maturity of Hilma's figure now no longer precocious defining the single, deep swell from her throat to her waist, the strong, fine amplitude of her hips, the sweet feminine undulation of her neck and shoulders. Her cheeks were pink with health, and her large round arms carried the piled-up dishes with never a tremour.
Never through all the past winter months of strenuous activity, the fever of political campaigns, the harrowing delays and ultimate defeat in one law court after another, had he forgotten the look in Hilma's face as he stood with one arm around her on the floor of his barn, in peril of his life from the buster's revolver. That dumb confession of Hilma's wide-open eyes had been enough for him.
You ain't going to draw the fire here." "Well, that's to be thought of," said the other, allowing himself to be pacified, but still holding his pistol. "Don't let him open that window," cried Annixter sharply from his place by Hilma's side, for the drummer had made as if to open the sash in one of the sections that had not been made up. "Sure, that's right," said the others.
Hilma's little home had been gutted; everything had been taken from it and ruthlessly flung out upon the road, everything that she and her husband had bought during that wonderful week after their marriage.
The thing was a failure, and at once he realised that nothing had been further from Hilma's mind than the idea of his kissing her. She started back from him abruptly, her hands nervously clasped against her breast, drawing in her breath sharply and holding it with a little, tremulous catch of the throat that sent a quivering vibration the length of her smooth, white neck.
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