All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

88 The sleepy old cayuse drowsed. The buckboard rattled, its familiar syncopation cutting into the peace of Ed’s thoughts like a strophe of recurrent pain. Maretta reached up for the materials. She could see the buckboard plainly now— the face of the girl driving it, and the jealousy on that face. The spirit of mis- chief, of evil, swept over Maretta. She took the pen, made a pretty pre- tense of missing the paper, had to reach for it, managed to prick the sleepy cayuse with the pen. Amazed, that old sinner pranced —and the paper she did not grasp, so she had to reach again. Ed, to help her, bent far over in the saddle; their heads came to- gether for just a heartbeat; then she had the paper. Ed, his face flushed from bend- ing, from the contact of cheek against hot cheek, swirled the cayuse around and, rais- ing his hand in salute, spurred for the trail. Maretta whisked indoors, in well-planned confusion. The buckboard ponies, recognizing the Wickson cayuse, whickered and the sleepy old creature whickered back. Ed, feeling that crimson tides were ebbing and flowing over face and partly bared neck, was very uncomfortable as he swung alongside. Berenice, her face drawn, icy, did not respond to his greeting, although he hum- bly swept low his wide-brim over his saddle’s horn. He turned to Ma Wickson, whose comfortable body joggled about with the sway of the jolting vehicle. “Oh, I say, Mrs. Wickson,” Ed plead- ed, after he had noted the angle at which that usually friendly person’s nose was tip- tilted away from him; ‘I say, Mother Wickson, what’s up?”’ “JT do declare, Ed Burlane,”’ she burst out, as cayuse and ponies exchanged news by means of friendly-wise horse-talk; * I never ’d thought it o’ vou if I'd not seen it with my own personal eyes.” ‘¢ Seen what?’ Ed’s tone was wild, his eye wilder. “Seen what? An’ this here girl a break- in’ her hea—”’ “Mrs. Wickson.”’ Berenice’s voice, like a clash of supple, steely blade, cut into the soft flow of the other’s indignation. ALL-STORY WEEKLY. Well, it’s true—”’ “Mrs. Wickson!”’ Again Berenice headed off the other. She hit the ponies a vicious cut with her whip. The animals, astounded, bolted. . Ed jammed spurs to the sleepy cayuse which, likewise taken unaware, made a wild pasear off-trail, then lumbered to retrieve his vantage point against the withers of the pair, that he might resume his interrupted question. “Here, what’s wrong?” Ed _ pleaded, when he had reestablished himself beside the buckboard. “T declare, Ed Burlane—” Mrs. Wick- son began. ““ Declare, then,” Ed bawled; “ but what is it all about?” Berenice turned in her seat and looked him squarely in the face. ‘A man who kisses a wayside bar girl,” she snapped, “‘ would do well to keep away from me, sir.”’ Open-mouthed, Ed watched her lash the ponies into a canter. The buckboard, with Mrs. Wickson hanging on to the jouncing seat, swung and bumped. Soon they had gone from Ed’s sight, over a rise in the land, on the way toward Coppered Jack. “ Dog-gone it,’ Ed confided to the sleepy cayuse’s left ear, “I might’s well kissed her, at that, as be accused of doing it, and not getting the kiss. Darn a girl, anyway!” He set spurs to the cayuse and coaxed, a canter out of him. As he lagged toward Coppered Jack, Maretta, from her place be- hind one of the window spaces of the Chaparral Cock, peeped forth and waved, a kiss at his receding back. To Aguilar, who came in presently, she gave the note Ed had written for her, and he took it into her cubby behind the bar and began, in odd moments, to work on a forged bill of sale, purporting to transfer Midnight from Bur- lane to himself for a goodly sum. Silently intent, Berenice drove the ponies into the town and put them out. Ed did not appear for supper and the meal was eaten in silence. Once Ma Wickson ven- tured to speak to Pa of what had hap- pened. He defended Ed by saying that he, indeed, had urged Ed to see the Mexican girl on account of Midnight. CO DOOK nn C©