Lost Farm Camp Part 33

"Thet so?" said the old man, grinning. "Wal, I reckon you ain't got no call to be sca'd. I reckon your breakin' thet leg has saved me breakin'

the rest of ye what ain't bruk a'ready; but it's Christmas to our house-and seein' it do be Christmas, and not thet I'm pityin' ye any-you're a-comin' 'long with me and Swickey."

CHAPTER XXII-"RED" SMEATON'S LOVE AFFAIR

Avery rather enjoyed having Smeaton at his camp. It gave him some one to talk to during the long weeks of winter and early spring that followed.

"Red" sulked at first, but the old man overcame this by his unwavering kindness and good humor.

Fisty Harrigan had waited anxiously for Smeaton's return. Finally, he sent a man to Tramworth, suspecting that "Red" had sold the pelts and was dissipating the proceeds in riotous living. Upon ascertaining Smeaton's whereabouts, Harrigan, mistrusting his informant, came to Lost Farm himself just after Swickey had left for her final term at the Tramworth school. What Avery said to Harrigan before he allowed him to see his partner was in part overheard by the latter, as he lay bolstered up in the old man's bed. He grinned as Avery drove home some picturesque suggestions of what might happen in the way of physical violence, "to folks ketched stealin' other folkses' fur." Avery intimated that a broken leg was a mere incident compared with the overwhelming results should he undertake to a.s.sist Providence in administering justice.

Harrigan listened with poorly dissembled hate, which was not appreciably overcome by Smeaton's att.i.tude of apparent satisfaction with his host and his surroundings. The Irishman licked his lips nervously while he talked with "Red" and seemed ill at ease, possibly on account of the proximity of Smoke, who lay crouched near the box stove in an att.i.tude of alert patience.

Several days after Harrigan's departure, Smeaton called to Avery, who was in the kitchen mixing biscuits. The old man came in, arms bare to the elbow and a dash of flour on the end of his nose.

"Wal, Joe?"

Smeaton twisted his shoulders uncomfortably, but said nothing.

"Wantin' a drink?"

Smeaton nodded.

The old man went out and returned with the dipper. "Reckon I hain't jest a fust-cla.s.s nuss," he said, "but you'll have to put up with me fur a spell yit. How's the leg feelin'?"

"Can't kick," replied Smeaton.

"I persume not," replied Avery, with a touch of irony.

"Say, Hoss-I-a feller-you wouldn't say as I was much on looks, would you?"

"Not if I didn't want to put a dent in my rep'tation fur callin' hosses hosses."

"U-huh. I knowed it. Wimmen-folks don't fancy red hair as a giniral thing, do they?"

"Depends on the man what's wearin' it. Had red hair m'self when I were a colt. Don't jest rec'llect any females jumpin' fences when I come by."

"Your'n's white now," said Smeaton, with a shade of envy in his pale blue eyes.

"What they is of it. But what you drivin' at?"

Smeaton flushed and blinked uneasily. "Oh, nothin'-'cept I was thinkin'

when I got this here hind leg so she'd go ag'in, mebby I'd kind of settle down and quit lumberin' and farm it. Have a place of my own."

"What's her name?" said Avery, quite seriously.

"Huh!" Smeaton's eyes glared in astonishment. "I ain't said nothin'

'bout gettin' married, Hoss."

"'Course you ain't. Nuther have I." Avery's beard twitched.

"Now, if a feller was thinkin' of gettin' married to a gal," continued Smeaton, "do you reckon she'd think he was gettin' kind of old, if he was, say, thutty-five?"

"Thet's suthin' like the red hair, Joe. Depends mostly on the man. I was older'n thet when I got married.-But I got to mix them biscuits. A'ter supper I'm willin' to listen to the rest of it."

"All right, Hoss,"-Smeaton sighed heavily,-"but I guess they ain't no 'rest of it' yit."

Several weeks elapsed before the subject was mentioned again. The doctor had been up from Tramworth to take the splints from Smeaton's leg and had mentioned Swickey's message to the convalescent, which was that she hoped he would soon be able to be up again, and that she knew he would be just as strong and active as ever in a little while.

"Strong and active. Strong and active." The phrase fixed itself in Smeaton's memory and he repeated it to himself daily, usually concluding with, "Wal, I guess I am-even if I ain't no dude fur looks."

When "Red" was able to hobble about the house, it was noticed by Avery that he gave more than a pa.s.sing glance at the kitchen looking-gla.s.s after his regular ablutions. By a determined and constant application of soap and water he discovered that he could part his hair for a distance of perhaps two inches, but beyond that the trail was a blind one. He shaved regularly, and sent to Tramworth for some much-needed clothing.

Avery attributed "Red's" outward reformation to his own example, never dreaming that the real cause was Swickey, who, for the first two weeks of Smeaton's disability, had tended him with that kindly sympathy natural to her and her father, a sympathy which seemed to the injured man, unused to having women about him, nothing less than angelic. Her manifest interest in his welfare and recovery he magnified to proportions that his egotism approved immensely, but could hardly justify through any known sense of attractiveness in himself.

For the first time in his life, "Red" Smeaton was in love, and the illusion of vague possibilities was heightened rather than otherwise by Swickey's absence.

"Suthin' wuss than a busted leg ails Joe. He ain't 'Red' no more. He's gettin' almost fit to be called Joseph, by stretchin' things a leetle, and it ain't my doin's, howcome I done what I could. I'm sca'd he's got a shock to his spine or suthin' when he fell that time. He ain't actin'

nacheral, 'ceptin' his appet.i.te. He ain't hurt thet none."

Avery soliloquized, Beelzebub asleep on his knee, as he watched Smeaton working in the garden-patch which was left soft by the recent spring rains.

"Says he's goin' back on the drive when she comes through-and she'll be comin' purty quick now. Mighty resky, I take it. But Joe knows his business. Danged if I ain't gettin' to like the cuss."

Beelzebub stretched himself lazily, and worked his claws luxuriously, and incidentally through Avery's blue jeans.

"Hi, thar, Beelzy, you hop down. My leg ain't no fence-post!"

The cat dropped to the ground, turning a reproachful eye on the old man.

"Reckon Joe's did enough fur to-day. He sot at it hisself, howcome it won't hurt him none. Hey, Joe!"

Smeaton turned and limped toward the cabin, dragging the hoe after him.

"What do you think about the drive this spring?" asked Avery. "She goin'

to be late?"

"Been purty dry," replied Smeaton. "Only 'bout two feet in the cut and the gates both on 'em down. I ain't expectin' to see 'em before June."

"Dave's comin' in June," remarked Avery, half to himself.

"Calc'late she'll tie up here sure," continued Smeaton. "Bad enough when they's plenty of water. They'll need the dinnimite ag'in."

"Ya-a-s. I shot the last two tie-ups fur 'em, but you recollec' you was drivin' yourself."

"U-huh."

"Jim Cameron's tellin' me young Andy Sloc.u.m's goin' on the drive ag'in this trip. He's got guts, but ain't he a leetle young fur the job?"