Whispering Smith
change in McCloud’s manner. “Oh, pardon me—I thought you were working for the company.”
“You are quite right, I am; but Mr. Sinclair is not.”
Her eyebrows rose a little. “I think you are mistaken, aren’t you?”
“It is possible I am; but if he is working for the company, it is pretty certain that I am not,” he continued, heaping mystification on her. “However, that will not prevent my delivering the message. By the way, may I ask which shoulder?”
“Shoulder!”
“Which shoulder is sprung.”
“Oh, of course! The right shoulder, and it is sprung pretty badly, too, Cousin Lance says. How very stupid of me to ride over here for a freight wreck!”
McCloud felt humiliated at having nothing better worth while to offer. “It was a very bad one,” he ventured.
“But not of the kind I can be of any help at, I fear.”
McCloud smiled. “We are certainly short of help.”
Dicksie brought her horse’s head around. She felt again of the girth as she replied, “Not such as I can supply, I’m afraid.” And with the words she stepped away, as if preparing to mount.
28
