"Oh, a piano!" Carolyn June exclaimed delightedly noticing the instrument. "Who plays?"
"Nobody," Old Heck answered foolishly, "I--I--well, what's the use of lying?--I bought it one day, before prohibition come, when I was drunk and just had it brought out because I didn't know what else to do with it--"
"You funny old uncle!" Carolyn June laughed, "I love you already.--Ophelia plays," she added.
"Not so well or so much as Carolyn June," Ophelia said.
"Maybe we'll have some music then some day; that ain't canned," Skinny suggested eagerly.
"You women can use them rooms," Old Heck said, referring to the doors on each side of the piano. "Parker and me did have them but we've arranged to sleep in the bunk-house while you are here."
"Carolyn June and I need but one," Ophelia said, "it isn't fair to run you out--"
"You ain't running us," Old Heck answered, "we've talked it over and would rather."
After dinner Ophelia and Carolyn June spent their time in settling themselves in their rooms. A small bath closet connected the two--crude a bit and somewhat unfinished; but a hot tub, the water supplied from a tank at the kitchen range, was enjoyed by both.
Old Heck and Skinny helped with the trunks and then withdrew to the bunk-house.
Old Heck shaved and Skinny put on a clean shirt.
Skinny was not sure but this official love-making job was going to be interesting work and Old Heck himself was uncertain whether to cuss or rejoice--sometimes he was almost sorry to-morrow would be Parker's day to love and entertain Ophelia.
At sundown, when Parker and the cowboys rode in from the northern hills, the Quarter Circle KT lay under a mantle of sullen, torturing heat. Not a breath of air fanned the poplars, straight and motionless, in front of the house. The sun buried itself in a solid wall of black that rose above the Costejo peaks, hidden now in the shadow of the coming storm. The horses were dripping with sweat--their coats as glossy and wet as if they had swum the river. At the corral the animals wearily tossed their heads, low hung with exhaustion, seeking to shift the sticky clutch of head-stall or hackamore, while their riders dismounted and quickly removed saddle and riding gear. Freed from their burdens the bronchos dragged tired heels through the dust as they whirled and trotted unsteadily away to the pasture, eager to roll and relax their aching muscles.