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And after that to ask me to marry him!" Men were fearfully primitive still, after all that we had done for them, I reminded her, especially in their notions of love-making. Their intentions were generally better than their methods. No great harm had been done, for that matter. A letter, if written that night, would reach Mr. Michael Harshaw at his ranch not later than the next night.
I was so provoked with her that I let her take her pace and I took mine. Fancy a woman of my age racing a girl of her build and constitution seven miles to Broadlands! Poor Harshaw was cruelly torn between us, but he manfully stuck to his duty.
She saw to getting them off, I suppose. That must have been her idea, directing them to Mrs. Harshaw. She thought there would be no Kitty Comyn, no me, when these got here. And there isn't; this is not the Kitty Comyn who left England six weeks, is it? or six years ago!" "How did the letter reach you?" I asked. We examined the envelope.
"We came to get Powder River, the bronc you rounded up for us," Hollister said evenly. "Harshaw sent us ahead. We're sure much obliged to you for yore trouble." The larger of the two men by the fire rose and straddled forward. He looked at Dud and he looked at Bob. His face was a map of conflicting emotions. "Harshaw sent you, did he?" "Yes, sir.
The screws have been tightened on her lately by something that befell at the Harshaw ranch. Our road lay past the place, and Harshaw had to stop for his surveying instruments, also to pack a bag, he said, with apologies for keeping us waiting. I think we were all a little nervous as we neared the house. Very few women could have spelled the word "home" out of those rough masculine premises.
It bore the postmark, not of Bisuka, but of Glenn's Ferry, which is the nearest post-office to the Harshaw ranch. Micky's wife had doubtless opened the letter, and Micky, perceiving where the error lay, had reinclosed, but some one else had directed it the postmaster, probably, at his request to Kitty, at our camp. That was rather a nice little touch in Micky, that last about the direction.
And then for a girl like me to toss him aside, after such a journey and such kindness! I don't know how I shall ever have courage to do it. There are fine women in London who would jump at the chance of being Mrs. Harshaw not Mrs. Micky, nor Mrs. Stephen, nor Mrs. Sidney, but Mrs. Harshaw, you understand?" I understood. "And now," she said, producing the second letter, "you will laugh!
Harshaw, the fiance, and prevent his meeting her train, it will be a vast relief to Kitty's friends to know that the dear brave little girl is in good hands ours, if you can conceive it! Please observe the coolness with which she treats his not meeting that train, after the girl has traversed half the globe to compass her share of their meeting.
Something in the cattleman's eye, in the curtness of his speech, brought Dillon back to earth. He had divined that his boss did not like him, had employed him only because Blister Haines had made a personal point of it. Harshaw was a big weather-beaten man of forty, hard, keen-eyed, square as a die. Game himself, he had little patience with those who did not stand the acid test.
Others circled the necks of the horses. Dud dived into the river to lighten the load. Harshaw, Bob, and the cook rode into the shallow water and salvaged escaping food, while the riders on the other bank guided wagon and team ashore. Dud, dripping like a mermaid, came to land with a grin. Under one arm a pasty sack of flour was tucked, under the other a smoked venison haunch.
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