“Some.”
She waited, knowing that the story would come at length.
He added after a moment: “Strange how careless some people get to be.”
“Yes?” she queried.
“Yes.”
Another pause, during which he casually drummed his fingers on his knee. She saw that he must receive more encouragement before he would tell, and she gave it, smiling to herself. Women are old in certain ways of understanding in which men remain children forever.
“I suppose we're still broke, Pierre?”
“Broke? Well, not entirely. I got some results.”
“Good.”
“As a matter of fact, it was a pretty fair haul. Watch that meat, Jack; I think it's burning.”
It was hardly beginning to cook, but she turned it obediently and hid another slow smile. Rising, she passed behind his chair, and pretended to busy herself with something near the wall. This was the environment and attitude which would make him talk most freely, she knew.
“Speaking of careless men,” said Pierre, “I could tell you a yarn, Jack.”
She stood close behind him and made about his unconscious head a gesture of caress, the overflow of an infinite tenderness.
“I'd sure like to hear it, Pierre.”
“Well, it was like this: I knew a fellow who started on the range with a small stock of cattle. He wasn't a very good worker, and he didn't understand cattle any too well, so he didn't prosper for quite a while. Then his affairs took a sudden turn for the better; his herd began to increase. Nobody understood the reason, though a good many suspected, but one man fell onto the reason: our friend was simply running in a few doggies on the side, and he'd arranged a very ingenious way of changing the brands.”
“Pierre—”
“Well?”
“What does 'ingenious' mean?”
“Why, I should say it means 'skillful, clever,' and it carries with it the connotation of 'novel.'“
“It carries the con-conno—what's that word, Pierre?”
“I'm going to get some books for you, Jack, and we'll do a bit of reading on the side, shall we?”
“I'd love that!”
He turned and looked up to her sharply.
He said: “Sometimes, Jack, you talk just like a girl.”
“Do I? That's queer, isn't it? But go on with the story.”
“He changed the brands very skillfully, and no one got the dope on him except this one man I mentioned; and that man kept his face shut. He waited.
“So it went on for a good many years. The herd of our friend grew very rapidly. He sold just enough cattle to keep himself and his wife alive; he was bent on making one big haul, you see. So when his doggies got to the right age and condition for the market, he'd trade them off, one fat doggie for two or three skinny yearlings. But finally he had a really big herd together, and shipped it off to the market on a year when the price was sky-high.”
“Like this year?”
“Don't interrupt me, Jack!”
From the shadow behind him she smiled again.
“They went at a corking price, and our friend cleared up a good many thousand—I won't say just how much. He sank part of it in a ruby brooch for his wife, and shoved the rest into a satchel.
“You see how careful he'd been all those years while he was piling up his fortune? Well, he began to get careless the moment he cashed in, which was rather odd. He depended on his fighting power to keep that money safe, but he forgot that while he'd been making a business of rustling doggies and watching cattle markets, other men had been making a business of shooting fast and straight.
“Among others there was the silent man who'd watched and waited for so long. But this silent man hove alongside while our rich friend was bound home in a buckboard.
“'Good evening!' he called.
“The rich chap turned and heard; it all seemed all right, but he'd done a good deal of shady business in his day, and that made him suspicious of the silent man now. So he reached for his gun and got it out just in time to be shot cleanly through the hand.
“The silent man tied up that hand and sympathized with the rich chap; then he took that satchel and divided the paper money into two bundles. One was twice the size of the other, and the silent man took the smaller one. There was only twelve thousand dollars in it. Also, he took the ruby brooch for a friend—and as a sort of keepsake, you know. And he delivered a short lecture to the rich man on the subject of carelessness and rode away. The rich man picked up his gun with his left hand and opened fire, but he'd never learned to shoot very well with that hand, so the silent man came through safe.”
“That's a bully story,” said Jack. “Who was the silent man?”
