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Updated: June 23, 2025
Hilma took them both, the little child and the broken-down old woman, in the great embrace of her strong arms, and they all three sobbed together. Annixter stood on the porch outside, his back turned, looking straight before him into the wilderness of dead vines, his teeth shut hard, his lower lip thrust out. "I hope S. Behrman is satisfied with all this," he muttered.
"Hello, it's you, is it, Miss Hilma?" he exclaimed, getting down from the buckskin, and allowing her to drink. Hilma nodded, scrambling to her feet, dusting her skirt with nervous pats of both hands. Annixter sat down on a great rock close by and, the loop of the bridle over his arm, lit a cigar, and began to talk.
He told himself that he felt not only better but hungry, and pressed an electric button in the wall near the sideboard three times to let the kitchen situated in a separate building near the ranch house know that he was ready for his dinner. As he did so, an idea occurred to him. He wondered if Hilma Tree would bring up his dinner and wait on the table while he ate it.
It made me angry and it hurt me. I shouldn't have said what I did that time, but it was your fault." "You mean you shouldn't have said you didn't like me?" asked Annixter. "Why?" "Well, well, I don't I don't DISlike anybody," admitted Hilma. "Then I can take it that you don't dislike ME? Is that it?" "I don't dislike anybody," persisted Hilma.
Dyke was awakened by the sounds of groaning in the room next to hers. Magnus Derrick was not so occupied by Harran's death that he could not think of others who were in distress, and when he had heard that Mrs. Dyke and Sidney, like Hilma, had been turned out of Quien Sabe, he had thrown open Los Muertos to them. "Though," he warned them, "it is precarious hospitality at the best."
The master of Quien Sabe, in top laced boots and campaign hat, a cigar in his teeth, followed along beside the carry-all. Hilma and Mrs. Derrick were on the back seat, young Vacca driving. Harran and Presley bowed, taking off their hats. "Hello, hello, Pres," cried Annixter, over the heads of the intervening crowd, standing up in his stirrups and waving a hand, "Great day! What a mob, hey?
"That's it," said Osterman, winking. "Have three guesses. Guess right and you get a cigar. I guess g-i-r-l spells Hilma Tree. And a little while ago she quit Quien Sabe and hiked out to 'Frisco. So did Buck. Do I draw the cigar? It's up to you." "I have noticed her," observed Magnus. "A fine figure of a woman. She would make some man a good wife." "Hoh! Wife! Buck Annixter marry! Not much.
Derrick," said Presley, coming forward, "don't go in." "Where is my husband?" demanded Hilma. Presley turned away and steadied himself against the jamb of the door. Hilma, leaving Mrs. Derrick, entered the house. The front room was full of men. She was dimly conscious of Cyrus Ruggles and S. Behrman, both deadly pale, talking earnestly and in whispers to Cutter and Phelps.
The train stirred, moved forward, and gathering slow headway, rolled slowly out into the sunlight. Hilma leaned out of the window and as long as she could keep her mother in sight waved her handkerchief. Then at length she sat back in her seat and looked at her husband. "Well," she said. "Well," echoed Annixter, "happy?" for the tears rose in her eyes.
Hilma had arrived now at her perfect maturity; she had known great love and she had known great grief, and the woman that had awakened in her with her affection for Annixter had been strengthened and infinitely ennobled by his death. What if things had been different? Thus, as he conversed with her, Presley found himself wondering.
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