She smiled sweetly down at him, her eyes picturing undisguised
admiration of his generous proportions, and frank, boyish face.
"Si, si, señor. Sapristi, why not? 'T is I, rather, who 'fraid you
forget to come."
"Y-you n-need n't be," he stammered, coloring. "S-señorita, I sh-shall
never f-f-forget this day."
"Quien sabe?--poof! no more vill I; but now, adios, señor."
She touched her pony's side sharply with the whip, and, standing
motionless, Stutter watched them disappear over the abrupt ledge. Once
she glanced shyly back, with a little seductive wave of the gauntleted
hand, and then suddenly dropped completely out of view down the steep
descent of the trail. Old Mike struck another match, and held the tiny
flame to his pipe-bowl.
"An' it's hell ye played the day," he remarked reflectively, his eyes
glowing gloomily.
The younger man wheeled suddenly about and faced him.
"Wh-what do ye m-m-mean?"
"Jist the same whut I said, Stutter. Ye 're a broight one, ye are.
That's the Mexican dancer down at the Gayety at San Juan, no less; and
it's dollars to doughnuts, me bye, that that dom Farnham sint her out
here to take a peek at us. It wud be loike the slippery cuss, an' I
hear the two of thim are moighty chummy."
And Stutter Brown, his huge fists clinched in anger, looked off into
the dark valley below, and, forgetting his affliction of speech, swore
like a man.