I am fixed for a scout sure.
Now when we get near your camp you must run up and get an axe and some
matches."
Bennington observed with approval the corpulency of the bundle and the
skilful manner with which it was tied on. He noted, with perhaps more
approval, her lithe figure in its old-fashioned painter's blouse and
rough skirt, and the rosiness of her cheeks under a cloth cap caught on
awry. As the ponies sought a path at a snail's pace through the sharp
flints, she showed in a thousand ways how high the gaiety of her
animal spirits had mounted. She sang airy little pieces of songs. She
uttered single clear notes. She mocked, with a ludicrously feminine
croak, the hoarse voice of a crow sailing over them. She rallied
Bennington mercilessly on his corduroys, his yellow flapped pistol
holster, his laced boots. She went over in ridiculous pantomime the
scene of the mock lynching, until Bennington rolled in his saddle with
light-hearted laughter, and wondered how it was possible he had ever
taken the affair seriously. When he returned with the axe she was
hugely alarmed lest he harm himself by his awkward way of carrying it,
and gave him much wholesome advice in her most maternal manner.
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