All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 95: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MIDNIGHT, OF Ed exploded at him: “Whoa, there, you ornery, mouthed humdinger!” Ma Wickson stuck her head out of the front door to call: “ Miss Berenice says she can’t go t’-day, Mr. Burlane. Got a headache.” “ Gid-ap!” Burlane started the ponies, that soon were careering threugh Coppered Jack as if going out to win a steeplechase, the buckboard bobbing wildly behind them. Berenice came down, listless, aimless. Ma Wickson packed a basket of lunch for her father. The girl took it and came back soon distraught. the time Ed was away. Soon after he turned the ponies out again, after be had left word that Twin Springs was in geed condition. Burlane found it expedient to take himself off. The girl was plainly ill at ease in his presence. Ed forked the Wickson cayuse and jog- gled off toward the Chaparral Cock. Be- fore going he mentioned his errand several times in a loud tone to Pop, laying down what he deemed to be a perfectly reasen- able alibi, .. == But without meaning to, he played the part a bit too well. No adept at outright deceit, the appearance of being engaged in it confused the range rider, and he made a bad job of it. And Berenice, listening, sensed deceit. For some time after he had gone, she remained in the Wickson kitchen, assisting Mother Wickson with her baking. That out of the way, she sat near the back window. “A penny for your thoughts!” Mrs. Wickson bid, putting the last touches on a heap of pone, ready ~against the coming dinner time. ‘Oh, I wish Mr. Burlane hadn’t gone away, my dear. I wanted him to enjoy some o’ my pones. He always eats like a man who would be easy to manage.” Having shot this rather broad hint at Berenice, Ma Wickson smiled slyly to her- self. “Yes,” snapped Berenice, whisking her head about, “ yes, like all the rest. Feed them. Faugh!” “ Hoity-toity, madam!” Ma Wickson mealy- She kept silence most of* THE RANGES. 85 snorted, getting up from her comfortable half-barrel chair with the steer-hide seat;| “you must be cross-grained t’-day?” ‘“Oh, Ma Wickson, not at you—” ‘Ma Wickson wisely held her tongue, Silence now. The kettle bubbled; the oven gave forth a volume of grateful odors from a crack in the door that had a ten- dency to bulge away from the face of the fireplace. ‘“Ma Wickson,” Berenice was facing her squarely now, “ tell me right out, what sort of a woman is that Maretta at the Chaparral Cock—”’ ts Ma Wickson’s hands went up in protest, “For the land’s sake! Now’what—” “T want to know.” €¢ W’ for?”’ “Never you mind, Ma. I got reasons, Is she—a—a—a—hussy! a‘ ! Ma Wickson pursed her comfortable lips, blew out a scathing breath: “You might add something on to that) yet. 9) ée Oh. ”? Silence again. After a long, long time:) ; “Ma Wickson?” “ Well, Ber’nice.” ” “Tm goin’ to hitch up those buckboard ponies. They ain't had ‘nuff exercise lately.” “J ain't noticed they was a dyin’ for ity Ber’nice..’ Silence again. The kettle talked; they oven gave out jts fragrance. Pa Wickson, whistling out behind the house, split the stillness with a few melancholy bars of. ‘¢ Jesse James.” ‘“‘ Well, Ma, never mind that. I’m goin! to hitch them up an’ drive them out this afternoon. Please come ‘long; will you, Ma?” { Ma Wickson looked at the girl. Hen deep knowledge of people often had steod her in good stead. She sensed something unusual — that Berenice needed her, Motherlike, she yearned to be of use to the girl whom chance had placed under her pretecting wing. ** Why, yes, Ber’nice,” she said softly; ‘“‘T dunno what’s in your pretty head, but I'll go for a drive with you, any time.” “Oh,” and the pretty head went oven cCoOmiclbooks C©