"Ya-as," Simon drawled again. "_Hyas kloshe tenas klootchman_--ah-ha. What name you callum?"
"Missee Clyde Bullaby," Feng replied, making a manful attempt at Clyde's surname, which was quite beyond his lingual attainments.
"Clyde!" Simon repeated, in accents of incredulity. "Me savvy 'Clyde.' Him big man-horse _hyas skookum_ man-horse. Him _mammook_ plow, _mammook_ haul wagon!"
"You _hyas_ damfool Injun!" said his host politely. "Missee Clyde Chlistian gal's name, catchum in Chlistian Bible; all same Swede Annie, all same Spokane Sue, all same Po'tland Lily."
Simon digested this information with preternatural gravity. "Ya-as," said he. "Casey like Clyde?"
"Clyde likee Casey," Feng responded knowingly. "Casey call um woman fliend. Lats! All same big Melican bluff, makee me sick. Bimeby some time she makee mally him. Bimeby baby stop. Then me quit. Me go back to China."
The prophet's last words blurred in Clyde's ringing ears. The friendly darkness hid her flaming cheeks. Why, oh why, had she listened? She was not even shocked by Casey's muttered curse. She felt his hand on her arm, drawing her gently back into the deeper shadows. In silence she followed.
"I'll fire that infernal yellow scoundrel to-morrow," he growled.
"No, no, it was my own fault," she declared. "Absolutely and entirely my own. I--I----Oh, don't _look_ at me, please!"
"I won't," he promised, but his voice shook slightly.
"You're laughing!" she accused him tragically.
"Indeed I'm not," he denied; but with the words came an involuntary sound strongly resembling a chuckle.
"Yes, yes!" he gasped. "I know it. It's too bad. Ha-ha! I really beg your pardon. I----Oh, good Lord!"
But Clyde gathered up her skirts and fled, whirling up the veranda steps and into the house like a small cyclone, never pausing until a locked door lay between her and a ribald, unfeeling world.
It was after midnight when Clyde awoke. She passed from slumber to wakefulness instantly, without the usual intervening stages of drowsiness.
Outside a gale was blowing, and volleys of rain pattered like spent shot on windows and roof. Thunder rumbled ceaselessly. A vivid flash rent the outer darkness, illuminating the room, and the succeeding crack shook the house. It was a storm, rare in the dry belt, of which there were not more than one or two in the year. For Casey's sake she hoped that there would be no hail with it. Better continued drought than a ruinous bombardment of frozen pellets from the heavens which would beat the crops to the ground, utterly destroying them.