But ugly as he was, and big and rude as he was, there was a simplicity and open-heartedness about Mr. Hicks that attracted more than Ruth Fielding. The boys, because Tom was enthusiastic about the old fellow, came in first. But the girls were not far behind, and by the time Mr. Hicks had finished breakfast the whole party was in the room, listening to his talk of his lost niece, and stories of Silver Ranch and the growing and wonderful West.
Mercy Curtis, who had a sharp tongue and a sharper insight into character, knew just how to draw Bill Hicks out. And the ranchman, as soon as he understood that Mercy was a cripple, paid her the most gallant attentions. And he took the lame girl's sharp criticisms in good part, too.
"So you thought you could bring up a girl baby from the time she could crawl till she was old enough to get married—eh?" demanded Mercy, in her whimsical way. "What a smart man you are, Mr. Bill Hicks!"
"Ya-as—ain't I?' he groaned. "I see now I didn't know nothin'."
"Not a living thing!" agreed Mercy. "Bringing up a girl among a lot of cow—cow—what do you call 'em?"
"Punchers," he finished, wagging his head.
"That's it. Nice society for a girl Likely to make her ladylike and real happy, too."
