As Annixter glanced about him, he saw a figure step briskly out of the shadows of one corner of the building, pause for the fraction of one instant in the bar of light, then, at sight of him, dart back again.There was a sound of hurried footsteps.
Annixter, with recollections of the stolen buckskin in his mind, cried out sharply:
"Who's there?"
There was no answer.In a second his pistol was in his hand.
"Who's there? Quick, speak up or I'll shoot.""No, no, no, don't shoot," cried an answering voice."Oh, be careful.It's I--Hilma Tree."Annixter slid the pistol into his pocket with a great qualm of apprehension.He came forward and met Hilma in the doorway.
"Good Lord," he murmured, "that sure did give me a start.If IHAD shot----"
Hilma stood abashed and confused before him.She was dressed in a white organdie frock of the most rigorous simplicity and wore neither flower nor ornament.The severity of her dress made her look even larger than usual, and even as it was her eyes were on a level with Annixter's.There was a certain fascination in the contradiction of stature and character of Hilma--a great girl, half-child as yet, but tall as a man for all that.
There was a moment's awkward silence, then Hilma explained:
"I--I came back to look for my hat.I thought I left it here this afternoon.""And I was looking for my hat," cried Annixter."Funny enough, hey?"They laughed at this as heartily as children might have done.
The constraint of the situation was a little relaxed and Annixter, with sudden directness, glanced sharply at the young woman and demanded:
"Well, Miss Hilma, hate me as much as ever?""Oh, no, sir," she answered, "I never said I hated you.""Well,--dislike me, then; I know you said that.""I--I disliked what you did--TRIED to do.It made me angry and it hurt me.I shouldn't have said what I did that time, but it was your fault.""You mean you shouldn't have said you didn't like me?" asked Annixter."Why?""Well, well,--I don't--I don't DISlike anybody," admitted Hilma.
"Then I can take it that you don't dislike ME? Is that it?""I don't dislike anybody," persisted Hilma.
"Well, I asked you more than that, didn't I?" queried Annixter uneasily."I asked you to like me, remember, the other day.I'm asking you that again, now.I want you to like me."Hilma lifted her eyes inquiringly to his.In her words was an unmistakable ring of absolute sincerity.Innocently she inquired:
"Why?"
Annixter was struck speechless.In the face of such candour, such perfect ingenuousness, he was at a loss for any words.
"Well--well," he stammered, "well--I don't know," he suddenly burst out."That is," he went on, groping for his wits, "I can't quite say why." The idea of a colossal lie occurred to him, a thing actually royal.
"I like to have the people who are around me like me," he declared."I--I like to be popular, understand? Yes, that's it," he continued, more reassured."I don't like the idea of any one disliking me.That's the way I am.It's my nature.""Oh, then," returned Hilma, "you needn't bother.No, I don't dislike you.""Well, that's good," declared Annixter judicially."That's good.
But hold on," he interrupted, "I'm forgetting.It's not enough to not dislike me.I want you to like me.How about THAT?"Hilma paused for a moment, glancing vaguely out of the doorway toward the lighted window of the dairy-house, her head tilted.
"I don't know that I ever thought about that," she said.
"Well, think about it now," insisted Annixter.
"But I never thought about liking anybody particularly," she observed."It's because I like everybody, don't you see?""Well, you've got to like some people more than other people,"hazarded Annixter, "and I want to be one of those 'some people,'
savvy?Good Lord, I don't know how to say these fool things.Italk like a galoot when I get talking to feemale girls and Ican't lay my tongue to anything that sounds right.It isn't my nature.And look here, I lied when I said I liked to have people like me--to be popular.Rot! I don't care a curse about people's opinions of me.But there's a few people that are more to me than most others--that chap Presley, for instance--and those people I DO want to have like me.What they think counts.
Pshaw! I know I've got enemies; piles of them.I could name you half a dozen men right now that are naturally itching to take a shot at me.How about this ranch? Don't I know, can't I hear the men growling oaths under their breath after I've gone by?
And in business ways, too," he went on, speaking half to himself, "in Bonneville and all over the county there's not a man of them wouldn't howl for joy if they got a chance to down Buck Annixter.
Think I care?Why, I LIKE it.I run my ranch to suit myself and I play my game my own way.I'm a 'driver,' I know it, and a 'bully,' too.Oh, I know what they call me--'a brute beast, with a twist in my temper that would rile up a new-born lamb,' and I'm 'crusty' and 'pig-headed' and 'obstinate.' They say all that, but they've got to say, too, that I'm cleverer than any man-jack in the running.There's nobody can get ahead of me." His eyes snapped."Let 'em grind their teeth.They can't 'down' me.
