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"But I reckon we'll go now. It's cert'nly a fine day for ridin'." He stood silent for a moment, looking about him. Then he flushed. "Why, I'm gettin' right box-headed, ma'am," he declared. "Here I am standin' an' makin' you sick with my palaver, an' your horse waitin' to be caught up." He stepped quickly to Mustard's side and uncoiled his rope.
But there was a rush of wind that ruffled her apron, a clatter, and she could hear Mustard's hoofs pounding over the matted mesquite that carpeted the clearing. Ferguson had fled. During the night Ferguson had dreamed dreams. A girl with fluffy brown hair and mocking eyes had been the center of many mental pictures that had haunted him. He had seen her seated before him, rapidly plying a pencil.
Many times, while watching them, he had been fascinated by their grace, and now, sitting in the saddle, he caught himself wondering if the influence of a bite were great enough to cause the person bitten to imitate the snake. He laughed when this thought struck him and drove his spurs sharply against Mustard's flanks, riding forward past the cottonwood at which he had been staring.
"That's the organ-grinder's motto, and a very good motto, too. But we're the exception which proves the rule. We're grateful for your sympathy, but we don't want your relief." As he gazed at her, both dismayed and very exasperated, she went on, speaking a little wildly: "Mustard's a very good thing. I think I needed a little mustard just now to binge me up!"
Chase 'em! Vedius forever! At 'em boys! Mustard's the word! Make 'em run! Rescue Posis!" They clubbed us. They clubbed the horses, they clubbed the mules, they clubbed the bearers and their reliefs. They gave us no time to explain, and though I yelled out who I was and who was with me, though Hirnio and Tanno and Martius yelled similarly, their explanations were unheard in the hubbub or unheeded.
If he had been less wise he might have told her that she had told him not to come until after ten and that he had noticed that she had been waiting for him in spite of her apparent reluctance of yesterday. But he steered carefully away from this pitfall. He dismounted and threw the bridle rein over Mustard's head, coming around beside the porch. "I wasn't thinkin' to hurry you, ma'am," he said.
"I wasn't noticin' that you was worryin' about him." "I'm right flustered," returned Ferguson. "Where's he now?" "Gone down the crick with Tucson." Ferguson smoothed Mustard's mane. "Leviatt been with you right along?" "He went up the crick yesterday," returned Rope, looking quickly at the stray-man. "Went alone, I reckon?" "With Tucson." Rope was trying to conceal his interest in these questions.
He removed his hat and sat regarding it with a speculative eye. Miss Radford smiled knowingly. "I expect I have been scarcely polite," she said. "Won't you get off your horse?" "Why, yes," he responded, obeying promptly; "I expect Mustard's been doin' a lot of wonderin' why I didn't get off before."
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