CHAPTER XXXI
BULLETS FROM SPYGLASS MOUNTAIN
IF Joshua Cole had not fully decided on his trip East while the seeing was poor on Spyglass Mountain, what Shanty Madge told him when he talked over his plan with her made an added reason for going.
She rode to his cabin door one morning, crinkly bronze-gold hair outstanding in the breeze, chromatic cheeks aglow. Joshua was busy with his books, but Madge was one disturbance always to be tolerated.
“Hello, kid astronomer,” she greeted him. “Get your nose out of that book and come out here and talk to me.”
He obeyed the preëmptory command, glad as a dog that answers its mistress’ call.
“Not working this morning?”
“No, I’m sick of work. Get Argo and let’s go for a ride.”
Joshua decided that he too was sick of work, and followed Madge to the lakeside with his saddle on his back.
Despite the capricious mood that the girl had assumed, it seemed to Joshua that she had something serious on her mind this morning. She had nothing at all to say while he threw his saddle on the gray’s back and cinched it. She was silent, too, after he had mounted and they were galloping around the lake toward G-string.
“Let’s slow ’em down and find out what’s troubling you,” he suggested finally.