"Yes, yes, that's it, a fancy breed." At the ranch house, where they arrived toward five o'clock, Annixter insisted that the priest should stop long enough for a glass of sherry.Sarria left the basket and his small black valise at the foot of the porch steps, and sat down in a rocker on the porch itself, fanning himself with his broad-brimmed hat, and shaking the dust from his cassock.Annixter brought out the decanter of sherry and glasses, and the two drank to each other's health.
But as the priest set down his glass, wiping his lips with a murmur of satisfaction, the decrepit Irish setter that had attached himself to Annixter's house came out from underneath the porch, and nosed vigorously about the wicker basket.He upset it.The little peg holding down the cover slipped, the basket fell sideways, opening as it fell, and a cock, his head enclosed in a little chamois bag such as are used for gold watches, struggled blindly out into the open air.A second, similarly hooded, followed.The pair, stupefied in their headgear, stood rigid and bewildered in their tracks, clucking uneasily.Their tails were closely sheared.Their legs, thickly muscled, and extraordinarily long, were furnished with enormous cruel-looking spurs.The breed was unmistakable.Annixter looked once at the pair, then shouted with laughter.
"'Poultry'--'a chicken or two'--'fancy breed'--ho! yes, I should think so.Game cocks! Fighting cocks! Oh, you old rat! You'll be a dry nurse to a burro, and keep a hospital for infirm puppies, but you will fight game cocks.Oh, Lord! Why, Sarria, this is as good a grind as I ever heard.There's the Spanish cropping out, after all."Speechless with chagrin, the priest bundled the cocks into the basket and catching up the valise, took himself abruptly away, almost running till he had put himself out of hearing of Annixter's raillery.And even ten minutes later, when Annixter, still chuckling, stood upon the porch steps, he saw the priest, far in the distance, climbing the slope of the high ground, in the direction of the Mission, still hurrying on at a great pace, his cassock flapping behind him, his head bent; to Annixter's notion the very picture of discomfiture and confusion.
As Annixter turned about to reenter the house, he found himself almost face to face with Hilma Tree.She was just going in at the doorway, and a great flame of the sunset, shooting in under the eaves of the porch, enveloped her from her head, with its thick, moist hair that hung low over her neck, to her slim feet, setting a golden flash in the little steel buckles of her low shoes.She had come to set the table for Annixter's supper.
Taken all aback by the suddenness of the encounter, Annixter ejaculated an abrupt and senseless, "Excuse me." But Hilma, without raising her eyes, passed on unmoved into the dining-room, leaving Annixter trying to find his breath, and fumbling with the brim of his hat, that he was surprised to find he had taken from his head.Resolutely, and taking a quick advantage of his opportunity, he followed her into the dining-room.
"I see that dog has turned up," he announced with brisk cheerfulness."That Irish setter I was asking about."Hilma, a swift, pink flush deepening the delicate rose of her cheeks, did not reply, except by nodding her head.She flung the table-cloth out from under her arms across the table, spreading it smooth, with quick little caresses of her hands.There was a moment's silence.Then Annixter said:
"Here's a letter for you." He laid it down on the table near her, and Hilma picked it up."And see here, Miss Hilma,"Annixter continued, "about that--this morning--I suppose you think I am a first-class mucker.If it will do any good to apologise, why, I will.I want to be friends with you.I made a bad mistake, and started in the wrong way.I don't know much about women people.I want you to forget about that--this morning, and not think I am a galoot and a mucker.Will you do it? Will you be friends with me?"Hilma set the plate and coffee cup by Annixter's place before answering, and Annixter repeated his question.Then she drew a deep, quick breath, the flush in her cheeks returning.
"I think it was--it was so wrong of you," she murmured."Oh!
you don't know how it hurt me.I cried--oh, for an hour.""Well, that's just it," returned Annixter vaguely, moving his head uneasily."I didn't know what kind of a girl you were--Imean, I made a mistake.I thought it didn't make much difference.I thought all feemales were about alike.""I hope you know now," murmured Hilma ruefully."I've paid enough to have you find out.I cried--you don't know.Why, it hurt me worse than anything I can remember.I hope you know now.""Well, I do know now," he exclaimed.
"It wasn't so much that you tried to do--what you did," answered Hilma, the single deep swell from her waist to her throat rising and falling in her emotion."It was that you thought that you could--that anybody could that wanted to--that I held myself so cheap.Oh!" she cried, with a sudden sobbing catch in her throat, "I never can forget it, and you don't know what it means to a girl.""Well, that's just what I do want," he repeated."I want you to forget it and have us be good friends."In his embarrassment, Annixter could think of no other words.He kept reiterating again and again during the pauses of the conversation:
"I want you to forget it.Will you? Will you forget it--that--this morning, and have us be good friends?"He could see that her trouble was keen.He was astonished that the matter should be so grave in her estimation.After all, what was it that a girl should be kissed? But he wanted to regain his lost ground.
"Will you forget it, Miss Hilma? I want you to like me."She took a clean napkin from the sideboard drawer and laid it down by the plate.
"I--I do want you to like me," persisted Annixter."I want you to forget all about this business and like me."Hilma was silent.Annixter saw the tears in her eyes.
