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Updated: May 20, 2025
Although the pursuers were well mounted their horses were heavier, and lost ground hopelessly in the midst of the broken land of the foot-hills. Jake was closeted with the rancher at the coming of the doctor and his companions; but their confabulation was brought to an abrupt termination at once.
He was not well-satisfied with himself; his face and hands were too brown and leathery, and when he thought of his failure as a rancher his brow darkened. He was as far from being a cattle king as when he wrote that boyish letter four years before, and he had sense enough to know that a girl of Mary's grace and charm does not lack for suitors. "Probably she is engaged or married," he thought.
"Good night," he returned, with sincere liking. "Who is that?" Norcross heard her companion ask. She replied in a low voice, but he overheard her answer, "A poor 'lunger, bound for Meeker's and Kingdom Come, I'm afraid. He seems a nice young feller, too." "They always wait till the last minute," remarked the rancher, with indifferent tone.
"In God's name, don't you understand now?" he questioned passionately. "Must I tell you in so many words why I refused, why I don't dare do anything else but refuse?" "No, you don't need to tell me." Absently, unconsciously, the rancher produced a red bandana handkerchief and wiped his face; then thrust it back into his pocket. "I think I understand at last."
It was another rancher, surnamed Crosby, hatchet-faced, slow of speech, who spoke, "Ain't that question a bit superfluous, pard? We're all with you that is, as many as you want, I reckon. None of us ain't cats, so we can't croak but once and that might as well be now as ten years from now." "All right." Hardened frontiersman, Landor took the grammar and the motive alike for granted.
Starting to make the circle a second time, the rancher spoke a single word to the little mustang and they moved ahead at a gallop. Instantly responsive, the herd likewise broke into a lope, maintaining their lead.
Polly leaned over the hand-rail of the porch to watch her father coming nearer and nearer. Then, when she thought he was in hailing distance, she shouted: "Daddy! Do hurry and hear the news came in my letter!" And the missive was waved back and forth to urge the rancher to greater speed. Mr. Brewster reached the porch and whipped off his wide sombrero to mop his warm forehead.
"Now," she said, "I would like to hear what you are going to do." The man made a little rueful gesture. "I don't know. Chop trees again for some rancher, most probably in fact, I was wondering whether you would have me back as a ranch-hand." "Ah!" cried the girl sharply, while a trace of hardness crept into her eyes, "that is very much what I expected.
"I'm Dakota. Ask anybody." There was a decided drawl in his voice. This information was far from being satisfactory, but she supposed it must answer. Still, she persisted. "Where are you from?" "Dakota." That seemed to end it. It had been a short quest and an unsatisfactory one. It was perfectly plain to her that he was some sort of a rancher at the least a cowboy.
Having gleaned recent vital statistics she turned next to the column carrying the market quotations on beef cattle, for after being a woman she is a rancher. Prices for that day must have pleased her immensely for she grudgingly mumbled that they were less ruinous than she had expected.
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