Beth Norvell

"Y-yer said that the p-p-pony never l-lied like a man," he began

doubtfully. "Yer d-did n't mean that f-fer me, did yer?"

There was something so deeply pathetic about the tone in which he asked

this as to hurt her, and the slender fingers still clasping his sleeve

suddenly closed more tightly.

"Señor, you mus' not say dat; you mus' not tink dat. No, no! I speak

that only in fun, señor--nevah I believe dat, nevah. You good man,

more good as Mercedes; she not vort' von leetle bit de lofe you say to

her, but she feel mooch shame to have you tink dat she mean you ven she

speak such ting in fun."

He halted suddenly, all remembrance of their surroundings, their

possible peril, as instantly erased from his mind. He merely saw that

girl face upturned to his in the starlight, so fair and pleading, he

merely heard that soft voice urging her unworthiness, her sorrow. A

great, broad-shouldered giant he towered above her, yet his voice

trembled like that of a frightened child.

"An' d-don't yer say that n-no more," he stuttered in awkwardness.

"Somehow it hurts. L-Lord! yer don't h-have ter be s-s-so blame good

ter be u-up ter my level. Th-they don't b-breed no a-angels back in

ol' M-Missouri, whar I come from. It's m-mostly mules thar, an' I

r-reckon we all g-git a bit mulish an' ornery. B-but I 'spect I 'm

d-decent 'nough ter know the r-right sort o' girl when I s-stack up

agin her. So I don't w-want ter hear no m-more 'bout yer not b-bein'

good. Ye 're sure g-good 'nough fer me, an' th-that 's all thar is to

it. Now, yer w-won't say that no more, w-will yer?"

"No, señor," she answered simply, "I no say dat no more."

He remained standing before her, shifting uneasily from one foot to the

other, a great hulk in the gloom.

"Mercedes," he managed to say finally, "Ye're a-g-goin' ter ride away,

an' m-maybe thar'll be o-one hell o' a fracas up yere afore the rest o'

us g-g-git out o' this scrape. I d-don't reckon as it'll b-be me as

will git h-hurt, but somehow I 'd f-feel a heap better if you 'd j-jest

say them words what I a-asked yer to afore yer g-go, little g-girl; I

would that."

She put her hands to her face, and then hid it against the pony's neck,

her slight form trembling violently beneath the touch of his fingers.

The strange actions of the girl, her continued silence, half frightened

him.

"Maybe yer a-ain't ready yit?" he questioned, his manner full of

apology.

"Oh, señor, I cannot say dat--sure I cannot," she sobbed, her face yet

hidden. "Maybe I say so some time ven I know eet bettah how eet ought

to be; si, maybe so. But not now; I not tink it be jus' right to say

now. I not angry--no, no! I ver' glad you tink so of Mercedes--it

make me mooch joy. I not cry for dat, señor; I cry for odder tings.

Maybe you know some time, an' be ver' sorry vid me. But I not cry any

more. See, I stan' up straight, an' look you in de face dis vay." She

drew her hand swiftly across her eyes. "Dar, de tear all gone; now I

be brav', now I not be 'fraid. You not ask me dat now--not now;

to-morrow, nex' veek, maybe I know better how to say de trut' vat vas

in my heart--maybe I know den; now eet all jumble up. I tink I know,

but de vord not come like I vant eet."