You ask him if I can't. You ask him what I did with that cranky twenty-
two last Sunday up on the mountain."
His clear gaze sought her, his lean face quivered with anxiety to
impress, convince her of his virility, skill. His jaw was as sharp as
the blade of a hatchet. She studied him with a new surprised concern.
"David!" she exclaimed. "For a minute you had the look of a man. A real
steady look, like your father. Don't you grow up too fast, David," she
directed him, in an irrepressible maternal solicitude. "I want a boy--
something young--round a while yet."
Hunter Kinemon sat erect and reached for his pipe. The visible strain
of his countenance had been largely relaxed. When his wife had left the
room for a moment he admitted to David:
"That was a hard one. I thought she had me that time."
The elder's voice was light, steady. The boy gazed at him with intense
admiration. He felt instinctively that nothing mortal could shake the
other's courage. And, on top of his mother's complimentary surprise,
his father had confided in him, made an admission that, David realized,
must be kept from fretting women. He couldn't have revealed more to
Allen himself.
He pictured the latter swinging magnificently into Beaulings, cracking
the whip over the horses' ears, putting on the grinding brake before
the post-office. No one, even in that town of reckless drinking, ever
tried to down Allen; he was as ready as he was strong. He had charge of
Government mail and of passengers; he carried a burnished revolver in a
holster under the seat at his hand.
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