to see you through the winter--or until
you get some white man to take my place." He took up the two
water-pails and waited, glancing from one to the other with that
repressed smile which Billy Louise was beginning to look for in his
face.

Now that matters had approached the point of decision, her mother stood
looking at her helplessly, waiting for her to speak. Billy Louise drew
herself up primly and ended by contradicting the action. She gave him
the sidelong glance which he was least prepared to withstand--though in
justice to Billy Louise, she was absolutely unconscious of its general
effectiveness--and twisted her lips whimsically.

"We'll stake you to a book, a bannock, and a bed if you want to stay,
Mr. Warren," she said quite soberly. "Also to a pitchfork and an axe,
if you like, and regular wages."

His eyes went to her and steadied there with the intent expression in
them. "Thanks. Cut out the wages, and I'll take the offer just as it
stands," he told her and pulled his hat farther down on his head.
"She's going to be one stormy night, lay-dees," he added in quite
another tone, on his way to the door. "Five o'clock by the town clock,
and al-ll's well!" This last in still another tone, as he pushed out
against the swooping wind and pulled the door shut with a slam. They
heard him whistling a shrill, rollicking air on his way to the creek;
at least, it sounded rollicking, the way he whistled it.

"That's _The Old Chisholm Trail_ he's whistling," Billy Louise observed
under her breath, smiling reminiscently. "The very song I used to
pretend he always sang when he came down the canyon to rescue Minervy
and me! But of course--I knew all the time he's a cowboy; it said so--"

The whistling broke and he began to sing at the top of a clear,
strong-lunged voice, that old, old trail song beloved of punchers the
West over:

"Oh, it's cloudy in the West and a-lookin' like rain,
And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again,
Coma ti yi youpy, youpy-a, youpy-a,
Coma ti yi youpy, youpy-a!"

"What did you say, Billy Louise? I'm sure it's a comfort to have him
here, and you see he was glad and willing--"

But Billy Louise was holding the door open half an inch, listening and
slipping back into the child-world wherein Ward Warren came singing
down the canyon to rescue her and Minervy. The words came gustily from
the creek down the slope:

"No chaps, no slicker, and a-pourin' down rain,