Twitter-or-Tweet came back to her. "Listen," he said, "you owe him about twenty bucks. I want it. I'll need it. You slip it to Hiram, and I'll borrow it off o' him. You see----"
"Why, I'll do nothing of the sort!" she cried vehemently. "Do I look like a sucker to you, Mr. Tweet?"
"Oh, dear, dear, dear!" he cried. "You don't understand. I'm gonta swing somethin' big. I need that and what Hiram's already got to float me along till I can hit the ball. For Heaven's sake, put a little confidence in me, ma'am, can't you? I'm gonta send the Gentle Wild Cat to you. He'll tell you. He trusts me."
"He trusts everybody," she remarked evenly. "Besides," she added, "you seem to forget, too, that you owe me for your railroad fare down here."
"Oh, that! Why, I'll pay you that in no time now. But wait--I'll unload freight in Hiram's place, and send him to you."
Sure enough, Hiram came presently and asked her, as a special favor to him, to let him have what money was owing to him.
"Hiram," she said, "you're going to lend it to Tweet, and he's going out in the auto stage to-night."
"I know it," said Hiram. "I got to help him. He's been a pretty good friend to me, Jo, and--and--I just like him. Why, if it hadn't been for him I'd never met you."
Jo colored and looked away. "You big, simple-hearted boy!" she cried. "Do you know what he is going to do?"
She was thoughtful a little, then took out a purse and handed him a twenty-dollar bill.
"Kiss it good-by," she said; "but I suppose the experience will be worth something to you."
"Thank you," said Hiram, very red of face. "I'm sorry for what I said about you meetin' me through Tweet, Jo. I meant to say, o' course, that if it hadn't been for Tweet I'd never got the job."
"Oh," said Jo, straight-lipped, "I understand."
Tweet was not with the outfit when it pitched camp close by for the night. He sat in the automobile stage instead, and waved a friendly good-by to them. "Bread on the water, Hiram, comes back chocolate cake!" he cried. "That is, Tweet bread does. Ha-ha, Hiram! You been mighty good to me, folks. So long for a time!"
Toward the middle of the following afternoon Jerkline Jo's freight outfit, minus the diverting Mr. Tweet of the twisted nose, was wending its way empty back toward the distant mountains, hauling the necessary water in the tank wagon.