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It ain't wrong to keep on loving, only it's awful lonesome not to ever tell you about it." "I'm sorry, Collie," said Louise gently. "Please don't you be sorry. Why, I'm glad! Maybe you don't think it is the best thing in the world to love a girl. I ain't asking anything but to just go on loving you. Seems like a man wants the girl he loves to know it, even if that is just all.
"All right, Red. Your pardner down there?" "Yep. Whistle when you get up to the meadow in the cañon. Billy'll be lookin' for you." "Any trouble lately?" "Nope. But Billy's got a hunch, though. He says he feels it in the air." At the crest Collie rode on down the winding trail, or rather way, for no regular trail existed.
On the ranch-house veranda sat Walter Stone conversing with his host, where several girls, bright-faced and gowned in cool white, were talking and laughing. The pony headed straight for the veranda. The laughing group jumped to their feet. Collie, using both hands, swung the hackamore across the outlaw's neck and tugged. She stopped with a jolt that all but unseated him. Walter Stone rose.
For Winnie, dark as Kathlyn was light, was as careless and aimless as thistledown in the wind. A collie leaped upon the platform and began pawing Kathlyn, and shortly after the younger sister followed. Neither of the girls noted the stiffening mustaches of the leopard. The animal rose, and his nostrils palpitated. He hated the dog with a hatred not unmixed with fear.
He heaved a deep sigh. "All right. I won't try to get in. Only listen.... Collie, don't mind my my way of showing you how I felt. Fact is, I went plumb off my head. Is that any wonder, you you darling when I've been so scared you'd never have me? Collie, I've felt that you were the one thing in the world I wanted most and would never get. But now.... October first! Listen.
She seemed to have been running races with a fine collie, who lay at her feet panting, but studying her with his bright eyes, and evidently ready to be off again at the first indication that his playmate had recovered her wind. Chattie was coming lazily over the lawn, stretching each leg behind her as she walked, tail arched, green eyes flaming in the sun, a model of treacherous beauty.
It did not seem fair that the hardest part of the whole thing should fall to poor little Wayne the Worthy. He couldn't help it, certainly. But how Worthie would love those collie pups! They would evolve all sorts of games to play with them.
As they toiled up the stream toward the camp, Winthrop recalled their former chats by the night-fire. Now he began to see the drift of Overland's then frequent references to Collie. And there was a girl, mentioned by Overland almost reverently, the Rose Girl, Louise Lacharme, of whom Anne Marshall had written much in eulogy to him. And Winthrop himself?
Turning the flock upward again toward the higher peaks, the ranger commanded the collie to their heels, and so, having redeemed his promise, rode back to the cabin, where he found Wetherford saddled and ready for his momentous trip to the valley.
Twice a week she would drive over, and the cart would not do for her, for she hired a gig from Angus Whitehead, whose farm lay over the hill. And it was seldom that she went without bringing something back for one or other of us. It was a wooden pipe for my father, or a Shetland plaid for my mother, or a book for me, or a brass collar for Rob the collie. There was never a woman more free-handed.
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