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The little fire died down. The barren outland wastes slumbered in the charitable dusk of night. Overland, cross-legged on his blanket, smoked moodily. His thoughts drifted out on the tide of silence to Moonstone Cañon and Collie and the Rose Girl, Louise Lacharme. For them he planned impossibly. Of them he dreamed absurd dreams.
Her real name is Louise Lacharme, and, believe me, Billy, she's all that her name sounds like, and then some." One after another, in the course of the two years following Collie's arrival, the old riders of the Moonstone Rancho drifted away.
Down the next ditch rolled the car, rocking to the unevenness of the mountain road. Overland opened the throttle, the machine shot forward, and in a few seconds drew up abreast of the deputy. "Thank you so much, Mr. Summers," said Louise, stepping from the car. "How are you, Mr. Tenlow." "How'do, Miss Lacharme." "Good-bye, Mr. Summers. I enjoyed the ride very much."
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?
He realized how many friends he had and how loyal and excellent they were. And of all that he had gained his greatest treasure was his love for Louise for Louise Lacharme, the little Rose Girl of his dreams. That love lay buried deep in his rugged heart. She would never know of it. No one should ever know not even Collie.
He was a big man, slow of tongue, ordinarily genial, and proverbially stupid. He knew the tramp was endeavoring to anger him. The deputy turned to Louise. "Sorry, Miss Lacharme, but I got to take him." "There's really nothing to hinder, is there?" Louise asked sweetly. The tramp glanced up, addressing the deputy. "Yes, even now there is something to hinder, if I was to get busy."
It was to him her pa tellin' him about the little Louise baby and askin' him to come to the Moonstone and take a job and quit prospectin'. That's where we stand." Louise, breathless, listened and could not believe that she was real, that this was not a dream. André Lacharme! Her father! "I seen a lawyer about it," resumed Overland.
"If I ain't oversteppin' the rules in invitin' you why, I was goin' to say, 'Miss Lacharme, wouldn't you like to take a little buggy-ride in the Guzzuh, nice and slow. She's awful easy ridin' if you don't rein her too strong." "I don't know," said Louise pensively. "Your car can only hold two?" "Yes, ma'am." "I couldn't run away and leave Mrs. Marshall.
"I'm sorry," began Louise; but the Marshalls silenced her with hearty "Oh, pshaws!" and "No matters!" with an incidental hug from Anne. "Why, you have changed so, Anne!" exclaimed Louise. "What have you been doing? You used to be so terribly formal, and now you're actually hugging me in public!" "The 'public' has just departed, Miss Lacharme, with your pony, I believe.
In a clump of greasewood he dismounted, and, leaving the reins hanging to the saddle-horn, struck Black Boyar on the flank. The horse leaped toward the Moonstone Trail. The tramp disappeared in the brush. Louise Lacharme, more beautiful than roses, strolled across the vine-shadowed porch of the big ranch-house and sat on the porch rail opposite her uncle.
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