Wyoming: A Story of the Outdoor WestRaine, William MacLeod
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Wyoming: A Story of the Outdoor West
Raine, William MacLeod
Western stories; Wyoming -- Fiction
She took his opening so eagerly that he smiled, at which her color
mounted again.
“If y’u like. What shall I read?”
“Some more of Barrie’s books, if y’u don’t mind. When a fellow is weak
as a kitten he sorter takes to things that are about kids.”
Nora came in and cleared away the supper things. She was just beginning
to wash them when McWilliams and Denver dropped into the kitchen by
different doors. Each seemed surprised and disappointed at the presence
of the other. Nora gave each of them a smile and a dishcloth.
“Reddy, he’s shavin’ and Frisco’s struggling with a biled shirt—I mean
with a necktie,” Denver hastily amended. “They’ll be along right soon,
I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Y’u better go tell the boys Miss Nora don’t want her kitchen littered
up with so many of them,” suggested his rival.
“Y’u’re foreman here. I don’t aim to butt into your business, Mac,”
grinned back the other, polishing a tea plate with the towel.
“I want to get some table linen over to Lee Ming to-night,” said Nora,
presently.
“Denver, he’ll be glad to take it for y’u, Miss Nora. He’s real
obliging,” offered Mac, generously.
“I’ve been in the house all day, so I need a walk. I thought perhaps
one of you gentlemen—” Miss Nora looked from one to the other of them
with deep innocence.
“Sure, I’ll go along and carry it. Just as Mac says, I’ll be real
pleased to go,” said Denver, hastily.
Mac felt he had been a trifle precipitate in his assumption that Nora
did not intend to go herself. Lee Ming had established a laundry some
half mile from the ranch, and the way thereto lay through most
picturesque shadow and moonlight. The foreman had conscientious
scruples against letting Denver escort her down such a veritable
lovers’ lane of romantic scenery.
“I don’t know as y’u ought to go out in the night air with that cold,
Denver. I’d hate a heap to have y’u catch pneumony. It don’t seem to me
I’d be justified in allowin’ y’u to,” said the foreman, anxiously.
“You’re _that_ thoughtful, Mac. But I expect mebbe a little saunter
with Miss Nora will do my throat good. We’ll walk real slow, so’s not
to wear out my strength.”
“Big, husky fellows like y’u are awful likely to drop off with
pneumony. I been thinkin’ I got some awful good medicine that would be
the right stuff for y’u. It’s in the drawer of my wash-stand. Help
yourself liberal and it will surely do y’u good. Y’u’ll find it _in a
bottle_.”
“I’ll bet it’s good medicine, Mac. After we get home I’ll drop around.
In the washstand, y’u said?”
“I hate to have y’u take such a risk,” Mac tried again. “There ain’t a
bit of use in y’u exposing yourself so careless. Y’u take a hot
footbath and some of that medicine, Denver, then go right straight to
bed, and in the mo’ning y’u’ll be good as new. Honest, y’u won’t know
yourself.”
“Y’u got the _best_ heart, Mac.”
Nora giggled.
“Since I’m foreman I got to be a mother to y’u boys, ain’t I?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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