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She stared as Rocket swept up into view, covering the ground with a long-strided trot. Ashton waved to her. She waved back. A few moments later they were close together. As she spun her pony around, he pulled in his horse to a walk, patting the beast's neck and speaking to him caressingly. "Back already?" she asked. "Surely, you've not been to Stockchute Yes, you have!"
Whenever possible Ashton climbed beside him, striving to ease the roughness of the ascent. A full hour before they reached the top, the thin-faced consumptive surgeon arrived from Stockchute with his splints and medical case. Waited upon by Isobel and Genevieve, he was fully recovered from the exertion of his ride when at last the panting rescuers came toiling up to the brink.
"Oh, Daddy! you're a poet!" cried his daughter, flinging her arm around his sunburnt neck. "Wish I were one!" enviously sighed Ashton. The cowman gave him a look that brought him to his feet. "Mr. Knowles," he hastened to ask, "if you'll kindly tell me what my work is to be this afternoon." The older man's frown relaxed. "Did you come out here from Stockchute?" "Yes."
But I presume I deserved it." "Yes, you did," she agreed, with no lessening of her coldness. "I see you will not accept an apology, Miss Knowles. However, I give you my word that I will deliver your letter to the postmaster at Stockchute." He started out, very stiff and erect. As he passed through the doorway she suddenly relented and called after him: "Good night, Mr. Ashton! Pleasant dreams!"
Ashton on Rocket!" breathlessly answered his daughter. "Sorry to contradict you, Miss Chuckie," said Gowan. "He put himself on." "He's on yet," dryly commented the cowman. "May be something to that boy, after all." "But, Daddy! "Now, just stop fussing yourself, honey. He and Rocket are going smooth as axlegrease and bee-lining for Stockchute. How did the hawss start off? skittish?"
"Hey? Uh! By James! Well, if that ain't a picture now! These sure are mighty fine little glasses, ma'am. I can see 'em plain as day." "Them? you say 'them, Daddy?" cried Isobel. "Sure. Come and look for yourself. Guess Lafe is fixing Mr. Blake's leg. Which reminds me, honey, that before we left the ranch, Mrs. Blake had me send for that lunger sawbones that's come to live at Stockchute.
If you can furnish good ranch fare for my wife, son, and self as guests, will look over your situation without charge. Wife wishes to rough-it, but must have milk and eggs. Will leave servants in car at Stockchute, where we shall expect a conveyance to meet us Thursday, the 25th inst., if terms agreeable. Respectfully yours, THOMAS BLAKE.
He can take his choice pay for his veal or make a trip to the county seat." "That's talking, Mr. Knowles," approved Gowan. "We'll corral him at Stockchute in that little log calaboose. He'll have a peach of a time talking the jury out of sending him up for rustling." "This is an outrage rank robbery!" complained Ashton.
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