“Sleep any?”
“Not much,” sighed Belle. “Tom––” she stopped and looked at Lance hesitatingly. “Tom had to push the cattle back from Lava Bed way––he says this weather’s drying up Lava Creek and the stock’ll suffer if they’re left drifting up and 299 down the mud-holes where they’ve watered all summer. He took the boys and started about two in the morning––to get out of the heat. I––I didn’t think you’d want to go, honey––”
“You thought right. I didn’t want to go; it’s too hot,” Lance assured her, and refrained from looking at her face and the pathetic cheerfulness she was trying so hard to make real.
“It’s sultry. I thought yesterday I couldn’t stand another hour of that wind––but now I wish it would blow. It’s going to storm––”
“Yes. It’s going to storm.” Lance set down his empty cup. “I may go fishing, Belle. Don’t look for me back––I may ride over and see how the AJ is making out. The little Boyle girl is not married yet, I hope?”
“Oh––no. No, she isn’t. Lance, honey––”
Lance waited beside her chair, but Belle seemed to forget that she had anything to say. She sat leaning her head on one hand, the other stirring her coffee absent-mindedly. “Don’t get caught out,” she said apathetically.
“I won’t.” Lance lifted the lace frill of the cap and kissed her temple lightly. “Go back to bed. It’s too early for you to be up.”
At the stable Sam Pretty Cow looked a question, grunted and went on with his stall cleaning. Lance saddled Coaley, tied on an emergency ration of grub.
“Fishin’s good t’day. Storm’s coming. Uh-huh––you 300 bet,” Sam Pretty Cow observed as Lance mounted.