“Don't ever think so,” said Wade, earnestly.
“No? I guess you're right about that. I've fetched you up some things for your cabin. May I peep in?”
“Come in,” replied Wade, rising. “You must excuse my manners. It's long indeed since I had a lady caller.”
She went in, and Wade, standing on the threshold, saw her survey the room with a woman's sweeping glance.
“I told dad to put some—”
“Miss, your dad told me to go get them, an' I've not done it yet. But I will presently.”
“Very well. I'll leave these things and come back later,” she replied, depositing a bundle upon the floor. “You won't mind if I try to—to make you a little comfortable. It's dreadful the way outdoor men live when they do get indoors.”
“I reckon I'll be slow in lettin' you see what a good housekeeper I am,” he replied. “Because then, maybe, I'll see more of you.”
“Weren't you a sad flatterer in your day?” she queried, archly.
Her intonation, the tilt of her head, gave Wade such a pang that he could not answer. And to hide his momentary restraint he turned back to the hounds. Then she came out upon the porch.
“I love hounds,” she said, patting Denver, which caress immediately made Jim and Sampson jealous. “I've gotten on pretty well with these, but that Kane won't make up. Isn't he splendid? But he's afraid—no, not afraid of me, but he doesn't like me.”
“It's mistrust. He's been hurt. I reckon he'll get over that after a while.”
“You don't beat dogs?” she asked, eagerly.
“No, miss. That's not the way to get on with hounds or horses.”
Her glance was a blue flash of pleasure.
“How glad that makes me! Why, I quit coming here to see and feed the dogs because somebody was always kicking them around.”
Wade handed the rope to her. “You hold them, so when I come out with some meat they won't pile over me.” He went inside, took all that was left of the deer haunch out of his pack, and, picking up his knife, returned to the porch. The hounds saw the meat and yelped. They pulled on the rope.
“You hounds behave,” ordered Wade, as he sat down on the step and began to cut the meat. “Jim, you're the oldest an' hungriest. Here.... Now you, Sampson. Here!”... The big hound snapped at the meat. Whereupon Wade slapped him. “Are you a pup or a wolf that you grab for it? Here.” Sampson was slower to act, but he snapped again. Whereupon Wade hit him again, with open hand, not with violence or rancor, but a blow that meant Sampson must obey.
Next time the hound did not snap. Denver had to be cuffed several times before he showed deference to this new master. But the bloodhound Kane refused to take any meat out of Wade's hand. He growled and showed his teeth, and sniffed hungrily.
“Kane will have to be handled carefully,” observed Wade. “He'd bite pretty quick.”
“But, he's so splendid,” said the girl. “I don't like to think he's mean. You'll be good to him—try to win him?”
“I'll do my best with him.”
“Dad's full of glee that he has a real hunter at White Slides at last. Now I'm glad, and sorry, too. I hate to think of little calves being torn and killed by lions and wolves. And it's dreadful to know bears eat grown-up cattle. But I love the mourn of a wolf and the yelp of a coyote. I can't help hoping you don't kill them all—quite.”
“It's not likely, miss,” he replied. “I'll be pretty sure to clean out the lions an' drive off the bears. But the wolf family can't be exterminated. No animal so cunnin' as a wolf!... I'll tell you.... Some years ago I went to cook on a ranch north of Denver, on the edge of the plains. An' right off I began to hear stories about a big lobo—a wolf that was an old residenter. He'd been known for long, an' he got meaner an' wiser as he was hunted. His specialty got to be yearlings, an' the ranchers all over rose up in arms against him. They hired all the old hunters an' trappers in the country to kill him. No good! Old Lobo went right on pullin' down yearlings. Every night he'd get one or more. An' he was so cute an' so swift that he'd work on different ranches on different nights. Finally he killed eleven yearlings for my boss on one night. Eleven! Think of that. An' then I said to my boss, 'I reckon you'd better let me go kill that gray butcher.' An' my boss laughed at me. But he let me go. He'd have tried anythin'. I took a hunk of meat, a blanket, my gun, an' a pair of snow-shoes, an' I set out on old Lobo's tracks.... An', Miss Columbine, I
“Why, how wonderful!” exclaimed the girl, breathless and glowing with interest. “Oh, it seems a pity such a splendid brute should be killed. Wild animals are cruel. I wish it were different.”
“Life is cruel, miss, an' I echo your wish,” replied Wade, sadly.
“You have had great experiences. Dad said to me, 'Collie, here at last is a man who can tell you enough stories!'... But I don't believe you ever could.”
“You like stories?” asked Wade, curiously.
“Love them. All kinds, but I like adventure best.
Wade could not find his tongue readily.
“I must go now,” she continued, and moved off the porch. Then she hesitated, and turned with a smile that was wistful and impulsive. “I—I believe we'll be good friends.”
