"Well, look at that crazy fool ride," she observed, as Brig disappeared in his own dust. "You'd think from the way he travels he was the keenest lover in the world." She paused here and laughed to herself.
"Yes, indeed!" responded Bowles, with a certain brotherly pride. "Old Brig thinks a lot of that girl."
"Well, maybe he does," conceded Dixie; "but he certainly makes me provoked. I declare, the way some of these men——" she paused again and bit her lip. Mr. Bowles was one of those men, too. "I reckon it's all right," she continued resignedly; "but when a woman has to ride clear over to the Gila, and propose for a man, and steal his girl for him, and then round him up and send him in, I guess she has some excuse to speak her mind. Don't you think so, Mr. Bowles? Well, then, if your friend Brigham had had his way, he would have hit for the summit of the White Mountains, and his girl would have been married to a Mormon! It makes me mad, Mr. Bowles, I declare it does! The idea of leaving that poor little girl over there and never going near her, when all the time she was begging him to come back, and her folks were reading her letters. She couldn't write it to him—she had to tell him—and he never showed up at all. Please don't apologize for him, Mr. Bowles; I'm sure there's not a word to be said."
Mr. Bowles bowed his head and felt very humble indeed, as if he, too, in some inexplicable way, had erred and been rebuked.
"And now," said Dixie at last, "Father'll make Mr. Brig his wagon-boss, and they'll get married and live at the ranch. Simple, isn't it?"
"Why, it seems so," admitted Bowles; "but how do you know he will?"
"How do I know?" repeated Dixie, rolling her eyes on him. "Why, Mr. Bowles, have you been around the Bat Wing for two months and failed to note who was boss? Right after you and Brigham Clark left I went down and fired that Hardy Atkins—so you don't need to be bashful about coming back."
Her voice trailed off a little as she ended, and Bowles started and looked at the ground. New worlds and vistas appeared before him, and visions and sudden dreams—and then he was back by her side, and the road was passing by.
"I'm sorry," he said at last. "It's my own fault—I should have explained at the beginning. But now your mother has written to her sister, and she has told my aunt, and so I've got to move on. She's telegraphing already." He showed her the yellow message and slipped it back into his pocket. "And there was a deputy sheriff inquiring for me," he added bitterly.
"Oh, dear!" pouted Dixie, yanking at the reluctant pack-horse. "I just knew she'd do it. Mother means well, but she's a New Yorker, and—well, I hope she's satisfied!"