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A bright handkerchief of scarlet was tied loosely around his throat, which was even a little more bare than was the average ranchman's; and his thick, much-pocketed flannel shirt, worn in place of a waistcoat and coat, was of a shade of red which contrasted and yet harmonized with the scarlet of the neckerchief.
Claire was almost comically unfit to be a ranchman's wife, and she too had been a trial on occasions. She was small and delicate, but vivacious, amiable, bright. Her blue eyes always had a childlike wonder in them, and she was fond of wearing her fluffy, golden hair in a girlish knot low on her neck, or even in a long, thick braid down her back, with a blue ribbon bow at the end.
Ming glided away at her approach and Frances sat down to hold the old ranchman's hand and tell him inconsequential things regarding the work on the ranges, and the gossip of the bunk-house. All the time the girl's heart hungered to nurse him herself, day and night, instead of depending upon the aid of a shuffle-footed Chinaman.
The ranchman's face flamed. "If you've got anything to say to me, say it quick!" he jerked out. "I have several things to say to you, one at a time," replied Haig smoothly. "To begin with, these men told you the horse was mine, didn't they?" "No, they didn't. They said you'd offered a thousand dollars for him." Haig laughed. "All right, if that suits you better!
Then as he mounted the steps and turned the corner of the "gallery" he uttered a hearty greeting. "Dave Law! Where in the world did you drop from?" Law uncoiled himself and took the ranchman's hand. "Hello, Blaze! I been ordered down here to keep you straight." "Pshaw! Now who's giving you orders, Dave?" "Why, I'm with the Rangers." "Never knew a word of it.
A glimmer of light, like some distant star fallen to earth from its velvet setting above, marked the station, house. It was visible at a great distance down the flat stretch of the valley. The ranchman's horse was headed directly for it, and the animal moved readily, eagerly now, nor were the spurs needed to urge him further.
The skins of a grizzly bear and a timber wolf lay on the floor, and two moose heads looked down from opposite ends of the room. On the walls hung other trophies won by Y.D.'s rifle, along with hand-made bits of harness, lariats, and other insignia of the ranchman's trade. The rancher took his guests' hats, and motioned each to a seat.
"Who would think that these rude cattle people would have so much sentiment. This Frances Rugley you tell about owns all these cows? And does she have her monogram burned on all of them?" Frances drew in her mount. Pratt suddenly turned and saw the ranchman's daughter riding behind them. He flushed, but smiled, too; and his eyes were dancing. "Oh, Sue!" he exclaimed. "Here is Frances now."
Sidwell lit a cigar, though the hand that held the match trembled. "Everything, I hope," he said. "I intend marrying her." The ranchman's face gave no sign at the confession. "You have asked her, have you?" "No. Your coming prevented. I should otherwise have done so to-day." The long fingers on the chair-arms tightened until they grew white. "You knew why I came to town, did you not?"
Oh, it is a serious situation we're in, Pratt!" "Can't we keep ahead of it?" demanded the young man, anxiously. "Not for long," replied Frances, with conviction. "I've seen more than one such fire, as I tell you. There! Take this rawhide." The ranchman's daughter was not idle while she talked.
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