Hale raised it gallantly, and pressed his lips on the one spotless finger.

“That’s gospel truth.  And you ain’t the first white man to say it.”

“Indeed,” laughed Hale.  “Who was the other?”

“George Lee!”

CHAPTER VI

The laughter that followed was interrupted by a sudden barking of the dogs in the outer clearing.  Zenobia rose lazily and strode to the window.  It relieved Hale of certain embarrassing reflections suggested by her comment.

“Ef it ain’t that God-forsaken fool Dick bringing up passengers from the snow-bound up stage in the road!  I reckon I’ve got suthin’ to say to that!” But the later appearance of the apologetic Dick, with the assurance that the party carried a permission from her father, granted at the lower station in view of such an emergency, checked her active opposition.  “That’s like Paw,” she soliloquized aggrievedly; “shuttin’ us up and settin’ dogs on everybody for a week, and then lettin’ the whole stage service pass through one door and out at another.  Well, it’s his house and his whiskey, and they kin take it, but they don’t get me to help ’em.”

They certainly were not a prepossessing or good-natured acquisition to the party.  Apart from the natural antagonism which, on such occasions, those in possession always feel towards the new-comer, they were strongly inclined to resist the dissatisfied querulousness and aggressive attitude of these fresh applicants for hospitality.  The most offensive one was a person who appeared to exercise some authority over the others.  He was loud, assuming, and dressed with vulgar pretension.  He quickly disposed himself in the chair vacated by Zenobia, and called for some liquor.

“I reckon you’ll hev to help yourself,” said Rawlins dryly, as the summons met with no response.  “There are only two women in the house, and I reckon their hands are full already.”

“I call it d—­d uncivil treatment,” said the man, raising his voice; “and Hennicker had better sing smaller if he don’t want his old den pulled down some day.  He ain’t any better than men that hev been picked up afore now.”

“You oughter told him that, and mebbe he’d hev come over with yer,” returned Rawlins.  “He’s a mild, soft, easy-going man, is Hennicker!  Ain’t he, Colonel Clinch?”

The casual mention of Clinch’s name produced the effect which the speaker probably intended.  The stranger stared at Clinch, who, apparently oblivious of the conversation, was blinking his cold gray eyes at the fire.  Dropping his aggressive tone to mere querulousness, the man sought the whiskey demijohn, and helped himself and his companions.  Fortified by liquor he returned to the fire.

“I reckon you’ve heard about this yer robbery, Colonel,” he said, addressing Clinch, with an attempt at easy familiarity.

Without raising his eyes from the fire, Clinch briefly assented, “I reckon.”