Behind her rolled a puff of slaty blue smoke.
Ford pushed past her in the doorway without speaking; the smoke told its
own urgent tale and made words superfluous. She turned and followed him,
choking over the pungent smoke.
"Oh, where's Chester?" she wailed. "The whole garret's on fire--and I
can't carry Phenie--and she's asleep and can't walk anyway!" She rushed
half across the room and stopped, pointing toward a closed door, with
Ford at her heels.
"She's in there!" she cried tragically. "Save her, quick--and I'll find
Chester. You'd think, with all the men there are on this ranch, there'd
be some one around--oh, and my new piano!"
She ran out of the house, scolding hysterically because the men were
gone, and Ford laughed a little as he went to the door she had
indicated. When his fingers touched the knob, it turned fumblingly under
another hand than his own; the door opened, and he confronted the girl
whom he had tried to befriend the day before. She had evidently just
gotten out of bed, and into a flimsy blue kimono, which she was holding
together at the throat with one hand, while with the other she steadied
herself against the wall.
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