He started toward her, realized suddenly
that the all-observing Buddy was at his very heels, and delayed the
reckoning while he led that terrible man-child to his mother.
"I wish you'd close-herd this kid for about four hours," he told Mrs.
Kate bluntly, and left her looking scared and unconsciously posing as
protective motherhood, her arm around the outraged Robert Chester Mason.
Mrs. Kate was absolutely convinced that Ford was at last really drunk
and "on the rampage," and she had a terrible vision of slain girlhood in
the kitchen, so that she was torn between mother-love and her desire to
protect Phenie. But Ford had looked so threateningly at her and Buddy
that she could not bring herself to attract his attention to the child
or herself. Phenie had plenty of spirit; she could run down to the
bunk-house--Mrs. Kate heard a door slam then, and shuddered. Phenie, she
judged swiftly, had locked herself into the pantry.
Phenie had. Or, to be exact, she had run in and slammed the door shut
in Ford's very face, and she was leaning her weight against it. Mrs.
Kate, pressing the struggling Buddy closer to her, heard voices, a
slight commotion, and then silence.
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