The Long Shadow | Page 5

land that is
too big and too far removed from the man-made world for any but the
strong of heart, knew little indeed of women--her kind of women.
When he returned with two chickens and found that the floor had been
swept so thoroughly as to look strange to him, and that all his scattered
belongings were laid in a neat pile upon the foot of the bunk which was
unfamiliar under straightened blankets and pitifully plumped pillows,
he was filled with astonishment. Miss Bridger smiled a little and went
on washing the dishes.
"It's beginning to storm, isn't it?" she remarked. "But we'll eat chicken
stew before we--before I start home. If you have a horse that I can
borrow till morning, father will bring it back."
Billy scattered a handful of feathers on the floor and gained a little time
by stooping to pick them up one by one. "I've been wondering about
that," he said reluctantly. "It's just my luck not to have a gentle hoss in
camp. I've got two, but they ain't safe for women. The Pilgrim's got one
hoss that might uh done if it was here, which it ain't."
She looked disturbed, though she tried to hide it. "I can ride pretty
well," she ventured.
Without glancing at her, Charming Billy shook his head. "You're all
right here"--he stopped to pick up more feathers--"and it wouldn't be
safe for yuh to try it. One hoss is mean about mounting; yuh couldn't
get within a rod of him. The other one is a holy terror to pitch when
anything strange gets near him. I wouldn't let yuh try it." Charming
Billy was sorry--that showed in his voice--but he was also firm.

Miss Bridger thoughtfully wiped a tin spoon. Billy gave her a furtive
look and dropped his head at the way the brightness had gone out of her
face. "They'll be worried, at home," she said quietly.
"A little worry beats a funeral," Billy retorted sententiously,
instinctively mastering the situation because she was a woman and he
must take care of her. "I reckon I could--" He stopped abruptly and
plucked savagely at a stubborn wing feather.
"Of course! You could ride over and bring back a horse!" She caught
eagerly at his half-spoken offer. "It's a lot of bother for you, but I--I'll
be very much obliged." Her face was bright again.
"You'd be alone here--"
"I'm not the least bit afraid to stay alone. I wouldn't mind that at all."
Billy hesitated, met a look in her eyes that he did not like to see there,
and yielded. Obviously, from her viewpoint that was the only thing to
do. A cowpuncher who has ridden the range since he was sixteen
should not shirk a night ride in a blizzard, or fear losing the trail. It was
not storming so hard a man might not ride ten miles--that is, a man like
Charming Billy Boyle.
After that he was in great haste to be gone, and would scarcely wait
until Miss Bridger, proudly occupying the position of cook, told him
that the chicken stew was ready. Indeed, he would have gone without
eating it if she had not protested in a way that made Billy foolishly glad
to submit; as it was, he saddled his horse while he waited, and reached
for his sheepskin-lined, "sour-dough" coat before the last mouthful was
fairly swallowed. At the last minute he unbuckled his gun belt and held
it out to her.
"I'll leave you this," he remarked, with an awkward attempt to appear
careless. "You'll feel safer if you have a gun, and--and if you're scared
at anything, shoot it." He finished with another smile that lighted
wonderfully his face and his eyes.

She shook her head. "I've often stayed alone. There's nothing in the
world to be afraid of--and anyway, I'll have the dog. Thank you, all the
same."
Charming Billy looked at her, opened his mouth and closed it without
speaking. He laid the gun down on the table and turned to go. "If
anything scares yuh," he repeated stubbornly, "shoot it. Yuh don't want
to count too much on that dawg."
He discovered then that Flora Bridger was an exceedingly willful
young woman. She picked up the gun, overtook him, and fairly forced
it into his hands. "Don't be silly; I don't want it. I'm not such a coward
as all that. You must have a very poor opinion of women. I--I'm deadly
afraid of a gun!"
Billy was not particularly impressed by the last statement, but he felt
himself at the end of his resources and buckled the belt around him
without more argument. After all, he told himself, it was not likely that
she would have cause for alarm in the few hours