“How’d you know?”
He started to answer, suddenly realized what she had said. He had meant to tell her he was leaving Stark and Clint, giving up his share in the herd. Would go and gladly go, with her, wherever the trail might lead, north or south.
Instead, he stepped back, eying her uncertainly.
“I don’t get you, Nella,” he muttered.
“That’s right, Ben, you don’t.” The smile brightened unbearably. “Mr. Stark does.”
Ben’s jaw set, bad and hard.
“Now don’t get up on your back feet and start waving your paws around like a damn bear,” she laughed. “I’m only agreeing with you, boy. Like you said, you’re not leaving me. I’m goin’ with you.”
“I’m right glad, Nella.” He said it simply. He wanted to shout for joy, but Stark was sticking in his mind, stopping him. “What’s Stark to do with it?” he tailed off bluntly.
“He talked me into it,” shrugged Nella carelessly. “Offered me a job I can get by on, that’s all.”
“What kind of job?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking,” she said easily. “A good job.”
“Sech as?”
“Dealing faro. Some saloon up to Virginia City. Black Nugget or something like that. It won’t be thefirst girl that’s tried it, you know. Stark reckons the boys’ll give my table a big play” her tone turned defensive, “and besides, he paid me in advance!”
She faced his growing scowl, concluding defiantly. “I can deal cards, too, mister! Open a snap. Pass a buck. Sweat the deck. High, low, jack and game. Ten, king, deuce, or trey. You name the game, I’ll deal it.”
It was one too many for Ben. At the moment his stumbling mind couldn’t get far past the main, happy fact that she was going with them. And mostly it didn’t want to get too far past it. To the waiting girl he spoke just what was in his heart, not shadowing it with any of the clouds beginning to build up behind his thoughts.
“Nella,” he said softly, “in my game you could never deal anythin’ but double aces—"
The trusting worship which, as Ben had so clumsily tried to tell her existed in him for Nella Torneau, grew only deeper and more dear with each long mile southward.
The girl was a never ending wonder to have along, never losing her cynical good nature, never tiring on the trail, always quick to see her share of the campwork and to pitch into it without complaining. After a few halfhearted male attempts to dissuade her on the shaky grounds of cow country chivalry, they gladly enough let her alone, and mighty grateful when all was said and done to shut up and enjoy a woman’s cooking for a change. Most especially such a woman’s!
Never did delighted frontier “dancehall girl” endure so much sincere attention, nor get swarmed under by such an eager surplus of flour-sacked centaurs and bow-legged, high-booted fire tenders.None of them could help her enough, and the competition at dishwashing time was little short of disgraceful. Even the aloof Nathan Stark unbent after the first few camps. Long before they crossed Red River the staid Virginia Citian could manage a batch of baking powder biscuits or a boiling of red Texas beans with the best of them.
Clint, of course, was in his element, playing the dashing knight errant of the plains to the handsome hilt. If he was not rampant on his sorrel mare performing his endless repertoire of south plains horsemanship to the applause of Nella’s breathless glance, he was mooning, couchant, on the starlit turf of the fireside spinning her gargantuan Texas lies of his singlehanded victories over entire Union Army corps, or his never ending, Sir Galahad-pure search for the soft-eyed, virtuous southern belle who would one lucky day be Mrs. Clinton Allison. He mixed his extravagant metaphors and perverted the seamy facts of personal history with such an entire and skillful skipping of the busty blondes and broken bourbon bottles which in truth composed his main claim to fame, that even the taciturn Ben
He started to answer, suddenly realized what she had said. He had meant to tell her he was leaving Stark and Clint, giving up his share in the herd. Would go and gladly go, with her, wherever the trail might lead, north or south.
Instead, he stepped back, eying her uncertainly.
“I don’t get you, Nella,” he muttered.
“That’s right, Ben, you don’t.” The smile brightened unbearably. “Mr. Stark does.”
Ben’s jaw set, bad and hard.
“Now don’t get up on your back feet and start waving your paws around like a damn bear,” she laughed. “I’m only agreeing with you, boy. Like you said, you’re not leaving me. I’m goin’ with you.”
“I’m right glad, Nella.” He said it simply. He wanted to shout for joy, but Stark was sticking in his mind, stopping him. “What’s Stark to do with it?” he tailed off bluntly.
“He talked me into it,” shrugged Nella carelessly. “Offered me a job I can get by on, that’s all.”
“What kind of job?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking,” she said easily. “A good job.”
“Sech as?”
“Dealing faro. Some saloon up to Virginia City. Black Nugget or something like that. It won’t be thefirst girl that’s tried it, you know. Stark reckons the boys’ll give my table a big play” her tone turned defensive, “and besides, he paid me in advance!”
She faced his growing scowl, concluding defiantly. “I can deal cards, too, mister! Open a snap. Pass a buck. Sweat the deck. High, low, jack and game. Ten, king, deuce, or trey. You name the game, I’ll deal it.”
It was one too many for Ben. At the moment his stumbling mind couldn’t get far past the main, happy fact that she was going with them. And mostly it didn’t want to get too far past it. To the waiting girl he spoke just what was in his heart, not shadowing it with any of the clouds beginning to build up behind his thoughts.
“Nella,” he said softly, “in my game you could never deal anythin’ but double aces—"
The trusting worship which, as Ben had so clumsily tried to tell her existed in him for Nella Torneau, grew only deeper and more dear with each long mile southward.
The girl was a never ending wonder to have along, never losing her cynical good nature, never tiring on the trail, always quick to see her share of the campwork and to pitch into it without complaining. After a few halfhearted male attempts to dissuade her on the shaky grounds of cow country chivalry, they gladly enough let her alone, and mighty grateful when all was said and done to shut up and enjoy a woman’s cooking for a change. Most especially such a woman’s!
Never did delighted frontier “dancehall girl” endure so much sincere attention, nor get swarmed under by such an eager surplus of flour-sacked centaurs and bow-legged, high-booted fire tenders.None of them could help her enough, and the competition at dishwashing time was little short of disgraceful. Even the aloof Nathan Stark unbent after the first few camps. Long before they crossed Red River the staid Virginia Citian could manage a batch of baking powder biscuits or a boiling of red Texas beans with the best of them.
Clint, of course, was in his element, playing the dashing knight errant of the plains to the handsome hilt. If he was not rampant on his sorrel mare performing his endless repertoire of south plains horsemanship to the applause of Nella’s breathless glance, he was mooning, couchant, on the starlit turf of the fireside spinning her gargantuan Texas lies of his singlehanded victories over entire Union Army corps, or his never ending, Sir Galahad-pure search for the soft-eyed, virtuous southern belle who would one lucky day be Mrs. Clinton Allison. He mixed his extravagant metaphors and perverted the seamy facts of personal history with such an entire and skillful skipping of the busty blondes and broken bourbon bottles which in truth composed his main claim to fame, that even the taciturn Ben
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