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Updated: May 24, 2025
Even Ben and Betty were not unhappy, for they were greedily consuming the hay of the bedticks. "Sam Patch's shore bustin' loose," observed the section-boss, selecting a second juicy rib and salting it from end to end. The salt spilled. He flickered a pinch over one shoulder. Boof! boof! boof! bang! came the muffled sounds from without.
Dallas chopped up the rifle rack and made a fire of it; then plied Marylyn with more of the pepper-tea. The section-boss refused to partake. The first cup, he said, had burned him. Tobacco was better solace. Dallas did not taste the tea, either. A fearful nausea beset her. Her heart went like a trip-hammer. She wrapped up, turning her back to the blaze.
In that time, his fear had slowly vanished, his confidence returned. And he had begun to show streaks of the bravado that, in his stronger days, made him an efficient section-boss. For, to the younger girl, certain calico-covered books on the mantel had invested the events of the fortnight just gone with a delightful tinge of romance. Dallas, however, took a sensible view of their situation.
"Excuse me," panted the other, giving, in his eagerness, only a glance at David Bond, "excuse me, but I see you're headed from home. I wondered I thought maybe I could do a turn for the young ladies while you're gone." For a moment the section-boss did not reply. He was still smarting over Dallas' generalship, and, if anything, was more disgusted and rebellious than when he left the shack.
In the first half-hour that followed the evangelist's disquieting admission, he listened to a wild, profane tirade: against himself, for having failed to speak of Matthews; against Dallas, for being in such a tarnal hurry; against Lounsbury on general principles. The section-boss found only one person wholly exempt from blame himself.
The dirt-floored shack, partitioned by Navajo blankets and furnished with unplaned benches, was a background totally unsuited to Marylyn's delicate beauty; but for the elder daughter of the section-boss, its very rude simplicity seemed strangely fine and fitting.
"Wal, nothin' 's ever happened t' 'em before," declared Lancaster. But he whistled to stay a change in good fortune, and rapped the wood of the wagon-box with his bare knuckles. David Bond busied himself with urging on his horse. "God will watch over them," he said devoutly. "'Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." The section-boss sniffed.
As the days slipped by, this cruel one became apparent: the section-boss, with his wild outbursts of anger, his implacable hatreds, his suspicions, and his tantrums of jealousy was gone. Across the sky, a pale shining ribbon, stretched the Milky Way. The braves in the stockade were watching it, their faces reverently upturned.
A moment, and a thread of light came through the gap above the latch. "They is!" cried the section-boss. A cheer replied. A sharp command was sung out to them. "Keep back! Out of the way!" Again the door was thumped; then great pressure was put upon it. It opened, letting in a half-dozen men and a wide path of warm sunlight. "Hurrah! hurrah!" "Folks, you snowed in?" "Thank God, you're all right."
The section-boss and his daughters were lined up on the warm side of the lean-to, shading their faces from the sun. When the comer was so near that they could see he was strange to them, Lancaster gave a peremptory wag of the head, and the two girls disappeared around a corner. Their father stayed on watch, his jaws working nervously with the ever-present chew.
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