Judith of the Plains | Page 5

his luck, why shouldn't they? They didn't see a pretty girl once in
a blue moon. With the advent of the green-eyed monster at the board,
each man unconsciously became the rival of his neighbor.
But Miss Carmichael merely continued her breakfast, and if she heard
the amiable deductions of Simpson regarding her, she gave no sign. But
a rebuff to him was in the nature of an appetizer, a fillip to press the
acquaintance. He encroached a bit farther on the narrow limits of the
table and continued, "Nice weather we're having."
Miss Carmichael gave her undivided attention to her coffee. The spurs
and sombreros, that had not relaxed a muscle in their strained
observation of the little drama, breathed reflectively. Perhaps it was just
as well that they had not emulated Simpson in his brazen charge; the
"yearling" was not to be surprised into talking, that was certain.
"He shore is showing hisself to be a friendly native," commented the
man who had sacrificed milk-teeth investigating the indestructible doll.
"Seems to me that the system he's playing lacks a heap of science. My
money's on the yearling." And the man who had "discarded the steak
and drawn to the biscuits" leaned a little forward that he might better
watch developments.
Simpson by this time fully realized his error, but failure before all these
bantering youngsters was a contingency not to be accepted lightly. As
he phrased it to himself, it was worth "another throw." "Seems kind o'

lonesome not having any one to talk to while you're eatin', don't it?"
Miss Carmichael's air of perfect composure seemed a trifle out of tune
with her surroundings; the nice elevation of eyebrow, the slightly
questioning curl of the lip as she, for the first time apparently, became
aware of the man opposite, seemed to demand a prim drawing-room
rather than the atmosphere of the slouching eating-house.
"Well, really, I've hardly had a chance of finding out." And her eyes
were again on her coffee-cup. And there was joy among the men at
table that they had not rushed in after the manner of those who have a
greater courage than the angels.
"No offence meant," deprecated Simpson, with an uneasy glance
towards the other end of the table, where the men sat with necks craned
forward in an attitude uncomfortably suggestive of hounds straining at
the leash. Simpson felt rather than saw that something was afoot among
the sombreros. There was a crowding together in whispered colloquy,
and in a flash some half-dozen of them were on their feet as a man.
Descending upon Simpson, they lifted him, chair and all, to the other
end of the table, as far removed as possible from Miss Carmichael.
The man who thought Simpson's system lacked science rubbed his
hands in delight. "She took the trick all right; swept his hand clean off
the board!"

II
The Encounter
Simpson, from the seat to which he had been so rapidly transplanted,
looked about him with blinking anxiety. It was more than probable that
the boys intended "to have fun with him," though his talking, or rather
trying to talk, to a girl that sat opposite him at an eating-house table
was, according to his ethics, plainly none of their business. He knew he
wasn't popular since he had done for Jim Rodney's sheep, though the
crime had never been laid at his door, officially. He had his way to

make, the same as the next one; and, all said and done, the cattle-men
were glad to get Jim Rodney's sheep off the range, even if they treated
him as a felon for the part he had played in their extermination.
Thus reasoned Simpson, while he marked with an uneasy eye that the
temper of the company had grown decidedly prankish with the exit of
the girl, who, after having caused all the trouble, had, with an irritating
quality peculiar to her sex, vanished through the kitchen door.
Some three or four of the boys now ran to Simpson's former seat at the
table and rushed towards him with his half-eaten breakfast, as if the
errand had been one of life and death. They showered him with mock
attentions, waiting on him with an exaggerated deference, and the pale,
fat man, remembering the hideousness of some of their manifestations
of a sense of humor, breathed hard and felt a falling-off of appetite.
Costigan, the cattle-man, a strapping Irish giant, was clearing his throat
with ominous sounds that suggested the tuning-up of a bass fiddle.
"Sure, Simpson, me lad, if ye happen to have a matther av fifty dollars,
'tis mesilf that can tell ye av an illegint invistmint."
Simpson looked up warily, but Costigan's broad countenance did not
harbor the wraith of a smile. "What kin