They sat in a long silence, Kate with her hands clasped about a knee and looking off at the mountain. She turned to him after a while:
“Do you like me, Bowers?”
“I shore do.”
Then she asked with quiet deliberation:
“Well enough to—marry me?”
Bowers looked at her, speechless. He managed finally:
“Are you joshin’?”
“No.”
A prairie dog rose up in front of them and chattered. They both stared at him. Bowers reached over and took her gloved fingers between his two palms—in the same fashion a loyal subject might have touched his queen’s hand.
“That’s a great thing you said to me, Miss Kate. I never expected any such honor ever to come to me. I’d crawl through cut glass and cactus for you. I guess you know it, too, but anything like that would be a mistake, Miss Kate. I ain’t in your class.”