Desert Conquest Part 31

"Of course," he a.s.sured her. "You know how to wear clothes. And you know you look particularly well in white. I've told you so before."

"Once."

"Half a dozen times."

"No--once. I remember it very well, because you don't often notice what I have on. Perhaps that's lucky, too."

"If it's you in the clothes, that's good enough."

"That's just the trouble. You accept me as part of the everyday scenery. I might wear a blanket, for all you'd care."

"I've seen some mighty becoming blanket costumes."

"I'm not a _klootch_," she flashed. "I'm a white woman, and when I wear a becoming dress I like somebody to tell me so."

"And didn't I just tell you?"

"So you did--and I'll put a ring around the date. It's the first time you've condescended to pay me a compliment in a year. You men are the limit. You take it as a matter of course that a girl should be neat and spick and span. If she wasn't you'd notice it soon enough. It's easy for a girl like this Miss Burnaby. I don't suppose she ever did a day's work or anything useful in her life. She orders her clothes from the best places, and gets them fitted and sent home, and that's all there is to it. But how about me? I've got a hundred things to attend to every day. I've got to make my own clothes, or take a long chance on a mail-order house. That's why, when I do get anything that looks pa.s.sable, I like it to be noticed."

"That's so," he admitted. "That's natural. I never thought of it, Sheila, and that's the truth. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Oh, heavens! Casey, I'm sorry I did now. Why do men have to be _told_?

I don't get taken this way often. Women and dogs have to be thankful for small mercies. Only a dog can shove a cold, wet nose into his master's hand and get a pat and a kind word; but a woman----"

She broke off, colouring furiously. The red tide surged over cheeks and brow to the roots of her hair. For the first time, with him, she was afraid of being misunderstood.

But Casey's perceptions, fairly acute where men and affairs were concerned, quite failed to grasp the situation. He saw only that Sheila, ordinarily sensible and dependable, had flown off the handle over something, and he metaphorically threw up his hands helplessly at the vagaries of women.

"Well, well, now, never mind," he said, in blundering consolation. "You look well in anything. I've often noticed, but I didn't think you cared for compliments. Anyway"--he grasped eagerly at something safe--"anyway, you can't beat that white dress."

She turned to him again, once more the everyday Sheila.

"All right, old boy, we'll let it go at that. Forget it. And now I'll tell you something: I wore this white dress--absolutely the plainest thing I have--because I didn't want to come into a finery contest with Miss Burnaby. And now let's look at the old dog. I'm afraid he'll have to be shot."

Farwell put in an appearance after supper. It was plain that the big engineer had not expected to find other guests; also that their presence embarra.s.sed him. Quite unused to dissembling his feelings, he took no pains to hide his dislike for Dunne. Casey, on the other hand, was polite, suave, quiet, wearing the mocking smile that invariably exasperated the engineer.

"You and Mr. Farwell are not friends," Clyde ventured on the way home.

"He doesn't think much of me," Casey admitted. "I rub him the wrong way."

"As you were doing to-night."

"Was I?"

"You know you were. Is there a private quarrel between you, apart from the water matter?"

"Not exactly. But it would come to that if we saw much of each other."

"Then I hope you won't. It's embarra.s.sing to others."

"I'm awfully sorry. It was very bad form, of course. But somehow I couldn't help it."

"Never mind. The McCraes are affected by this water trouble, aren't they?"

"As much as I am. You are surprised that Farwell goes there. I have never mentioned it to them, nor they to me. It's none of my business."

"Nor of mine."

"I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't. Still, I think I could guess why Mr. Farwell goes to Talapus."

"So could I," said Casey dryly, and the subject dropped.

But Kitty Wade came to Clyde's room for a chat before retiring. "Those McCraes," she said, "are very nice. Mr. McCrae is one of the real pioneers. He told us some of the most interesting things. How did you like Miss McCrae?"

"I think she's a very nice, sensible girl. Good-looking, too."

"H'm!" said Kitty Wade. "Yes, I think she is. Dresses nicely and simply. No imitation fine things. Shows the correct instinct. You and she might have been having a plain-clothes compet.i.tion."

Clyde did not respond. Kitty Wade resumed, after a brief pause: "I'll tell you one thing, Clyde; this man Farwell is in love with her."

"I could see that, Kitty."

"And she doesn't care for him."

"I thought that, too."

"I wonder," Kitty Wade went on, "if there is anything between her and Mr. Dunne? Do you suppose he and Mr. Farwell are jealous of each other?

They were like two dogs with one bone."

Clyde yawned. "Oh, mercy, Kitty," she said wearily, "ask me something easier. I wouldn't blame either of them. She seems to be a thoroughly nice girl."

Kitty Wade on her way to her room nodded wisely. "You don't fool me a little bit, Clyde," she said to herself. "This Sheila McCrae is probably just as nice as you are, and you own up to it like a little lady. But all the same you hate each other; and, what's more, you both know it."

CHAPTER XVIII

Clyde lay stretched at length in sweet, odorous hay. There was no reason why she should not have taken the hammock in the shade of the veranda that morning, save that she wanted to be alone. Therefore she had taken a book and wandered forth. Behind the corrals she had come upon a haystack, cut halfway down and halfway across, and on impulse she had climbed up a short ladder and lain down. Her hands clasped behind her head, her book forgotten, she stared up into the blue sky, and dreamed daydreams. And then she went to sleep.

She was aroused by the sound of hammering. Peeping over the edge of the stack, she recognized Tom McHale. McHale was putting a strand of wire around the stack, and as she looked he began to sing a ballad of the old frontier. Clyde had never heard "Sam Ba.s.s," and she listened to McHale's damaged tenor.

"Sam was born in Indianner, it was his native home, And at the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam; And first he went to Texas, a cowboy for to be-- He robs the stage at----"

He stopped abruptly, and Clyde saw two mounted men approaching. They bore down on McHale, who lifted his coat from a rail, and put it on. To Clyde's amazement the action revealed a worn leather holster strapped to the inner side of the garment, and from it protruded the ivory b.u.t.t of a six-shooter. McHale was apparently unarmed; in reality a weapon lay within instant reach of his hand.