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Updated: June 15, 2025
But Dicksie clung to him and would take no refusal. Whispering Smith looked at her in amazement and in admiration. "You are captain to-night, Miss Dicksie, by Heaven. If you say the word I'll lie here on a rug till morning. But that man will not be back to-night. You are a queen. If I had a mountain girl that would do as much as that for me I would " "What would you do?" asked Marion.
Sinclair was superb in answering, but the danger of admiring things became at once apparent, for when Dicksie exclaimed over a handsome bearskin, a rich dark brown grizzly-skin of unusual size, Sinclair told the story of the killing, bared his tremendous forearm to show where the polished claws had ripped him, and, disregarding Dicksie's protests, insisted on sending the skin over to Crawling Stone Ranch as a souvenir of her visit.
"She feels she ought to know because she is in a way Dicksie's chaperone, you know, and she feels that you are willing she should know. I don't want to be too serious, but answer yes or no. Are you engaged to Dicksie?" "Why, yes. "That's all; go back to the porch," directed Whispering Smith. McCloud obeyed orders.
McCloud joined the visitors for a few moments and then went back to where Dancing and his men on life-lines were guiding the mattress to its resting-place. In spite of the gloom of the rain, which Whispering Smith said was breaking, Dicksie rode back to the house in much better spirits with her two guests; and when they came from luncheon the sun, as Smith had predicted, was shining.
But the coyotes stole the chickens and kept the hens in such a state of excitement that they could not be got to sit effectively. Nest after nest Dicksie had the mortification of seeing deserted at critical moments and left to furred prowlers of the foothills and canyons. Once she had managed to shoot a particularly bold coyote, only to be overcome with remorse at seeing its death-struggle.
She looked careworn and a little forlorn, yet but a little considering the struggle she and Dicksie had made to reach the camp. Light blazed from the camp-fire, where Dicksie stood talking with Dancing about horses. "They are in desperate straits up at the ranch," Marion went on, when McCloud had assured her of her welcome. "I don't see how they can save it.
The shock of what had been told her, the strangeness of the night and of the scene, left her calm. Fear had given way to responsibility and Dicksie seemed to know herself. "You have nothing whatever to do to deserve it but keep your own counsel. But listen a moment longer for this is what I have been leading up to," he said.
"It is when my cousin is in danger of forgetting he is a gentleman." "You are interfering with what you know nothing about!" exclaimed Lance angrily. "I know what is due to every one under this roof." "Will you be good enough to leave this room?" "Not if there is to be any shooting or threats of shooting that involve my cousin." "Dicksie, leave the room!" There was a hush.
"And may I come over after I tell Rooney Lee to repeat this to headquarters?" "Why, of course, if you want to." When McCloud reached the cottage Dicksie met him. "Katie Dancing's mother is sick, and she has gone home. Poor Marion is all alone this morning, and half dead with a sick headache," said Dicksie. "But I told her, and she said she shouldn't mind the headache now at all."
Lance Dunning, standing with a cigar in his hand and one leg thrown over a corner of the table, was facing McCloud, who stood before him with his hand on a chair. Lance was speaking as Dicksie looked into the room, and in curt tones: "My men were acting under my orders."
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