Page:Cherokee Trails (1928).pdf/238

 Waco, putting his hand up with rueful reminiscence to touch the bandaged hurt.

"I thought he'd be the one," said Tom in abstracted undertone.

Waco looked at him hard again, and put out his hand.

"I wish I could 'a' been along, old feller," he sighed. "But you know how I was fixed."

Waco was too wise to ask questions, knowing there were certain passages of amours and battles in a man's career which the proper kind never discussed. Tom Simpson was of that kind, and Waco had learned all he wanted, for the present at least, to know.

They were not to learn the inside of Tom's exploit until the sheriff came over next day, ostensibly to find out if there were any unclaimed horses, but mainly to unburden himself of any undue credit which he feared Simpson had set down to his account. Even after that the women did not talk to Tom about it: only they looked at him with great tenderness in their eyes, and once in passing him as he sat smoking after the supper dishes were cleared away, Mrs. Ellison laid her hand on his head with a caress so like the touch of kinship that a watery film came suddenly between Tom Simpson's eyes and the lamp.