“Luck to you miss,” said the man, “an’ may you never need a drink as bad’s I do now!”
Steeve stooped and slid his hands under her arms, and lifted her till her face was level with his, and kissed her full on the lips.
BY BLOW AND KISS
CHAPTER I.
It was fiercely hot inside the hut, although the clickand snap of the tin roof spoke of its cooling now thatthe sun was off it. The men eating their supper atthe long deal table sat with shirt sleeves rolled upand collars open at the throat, and the sweat dropsglistening on their browned faces, brick-red arms,and lean throats. In spite of the heat they atehugely, as men do who have spent a long day in thesaddle, and “Blazes,” the cook, was kept busyreplenishing the heaped-up plates.
As they finished, one by one the men pushed theirplates back and loaded their pipes, and the reek ofstrong tobacco mingled with the smells of cookedmeats and the kerosene lamp on the wall.
“Scottie” Mackellar, slow and deliberate ineating as in most things, was the last to finish andlight his pipe.
He had been down to the station that day, justreturning as supper was served, and although themen waited expectantly for news or orders, theywaited without questions, knowing Scottie and hisways, and that questions were more likely to delaythan hasten his words.
“Whip” Thompson tried gently for a rise.
“What’s it looking like below, Mac?” he asked.
...