White Bluffs spokesman. [volume] (White Bluffs, Wash.) 1907-1938, 1926-06-04
THE FEMININE TOUCH
BY LOWELL oTUs REESE

truth burst suddenly upon old Shad' s
understanding and he dived off the
porch in panic and went lettering
away down the street. The girl went
inside the hotel and shut the door be-
hind her. Over on the saloon porch
we caught our breath in gasping
sigh.
After he put his team away, Poker
Terribone came round and joined us
in Alb Linder's place. But he was not
the rollocking, devil-may-care Poker
Terribone of yesterday.
II used to think that Adam was
poor, weak excuse for a man." began
Poker without other preamble. Eyes,
laid all the blame on his iii wife he
was low sneak and ought to have
been whipped. But now don't
know. Maybe that was just a news
paper story. Maybe there was two
sides to that story, after all. Maybe
Adam couldn't help it,"
who's this girl you brought in to-
night, Poker?" asked Alb Under.
"And what did she do to you?"
She's Miss Birdie Calamus-and
what she done to me was plenty!"
said Poker mildly. "She gets my goat
that's what she done to me! 1
reckon Stovelid's goin' to know Ole
Man Trouble real intimate from now
ont"
"On account of Birdie Calamus?"
inquired Alb.
Poker NODDED. "On account of
Birdie Calamus!" he said "This fe-
male is goin' to stand Stovelid on it's
head and keep it there!"
"She-she didn't look to me none
dangerous" Uncle Saddler quavered
nervously. "Of course, l been desert
man all my life and l amt never got
real acquainted with no She, but this
lady"
(Which shows you amt goin' to
last long when she starts workin' on
you!" said Poker earnestly. "Me,
thought the same way about her when
she climbs aboard my stage at Chuck
awalla, after leavin' the Los Angeles
train. 1 figured her as timid and
harmless as rabbit. I'd always
heard women was thataway. But l
soon learns different She-she gets
my goat afore we're twenty miles out
of Chuckawalla!"
How did it happen, Poke?"
"Why," said the crushed stage
driver, ut started like this: We was
rollin' along through the hot sand
drifts a few miles this side of
Chuckawalla, like I told you, when
the lady speaks to me.
Good scourin' sand,' she says
sort Of cheerful and lookin' round at
the desert 1 didn't say anything.
Plenty of it, too,' she remarks
after waitin' while.
light 1 grunts, and fetches my
Jerry mule a cut with the whip
You see, l don't never like to talk to
the tenderfeet that rides with me.
Most generally they want me to lee
ture on my harrowin' experiences or
else they want to know what makes
the heat blink wiggle and they al
ways want me to show 'em a mirage.
They don't make no allowances for
me with my throat full of alkali dust
and hoarse as a raven with cussin'
them hell-fre mules.
"And she let's me be for fifteen
minutes. Then: IF you can't talk
she says, try wigglin' your ears!
"She was settin' behind me, of
course, on the back seat. / didn't
say anything to this. couldn't
seem to think of anything, though 1
thought for. half an hour. We was
just comm round the foot of Cinder
Butte when she spoke again.
They're such good, big ears,
tool l hears her say to herself. "A
person could see 'em good for mile
and half, bet you!'
"She didn't say anything more
for maybe an hour; but, gents, as
shorely as Pm a-standin' here
could feel her lookin' at my ears!
And my ears kept a-gettin' hotter
and hotter and it seemed to me at last
they stuck out like couple of foldin'
my head them ears would flap!
(To be Continued)