"Well, something like that," admitted Bowles.
"Yes, I do remember that," responded Dixie, with a reminiscent smile. "I remember it well. We were alone on the train and we said all kinds of things—I didn't know you very well then. I remember you told me once, if I'd help you find the Far West, you'd be my faithful knight—and all that. And I helped you, too, didn't I?"
"Why, yes!" said Bowles, puzzled by her air.
"Well, what about being my knight?" demanded Dixie, with sudden frankness. "You've done well out here, Mr. Bowles, but there's one thing I'm disappointed in—you don't keep the customs of the country!"
"Why, what do you mean, Miss Lee?" inquired Bowles.
A sudden smile illuminated Dixie's face—the same smile that had taken possession of him when he had forgotten and stolen a kiss—and then she turned away and blushed.
"Well," she said, "you're the first Bat Wing man that has gone away without—without proposing to me!"
She glanced at him defiantly and folded her arms—and Bowles felt his reason eclipsed, and the world go dark before him. A thousand riotous thoughts clamored suddenly for recognition, and his brain reeled at the shock. Then he opened his eyes, and she was still smiling at him, but the smile had a twinkle of mischief in it. The memory of her legion of suitors came over him now, and her carefree, jesting ways, and he became of a sudden calm. They had all proposed, and she had led them on, and then she had told them no. But she should never deal that ignominy to him. If she scorned his humble suit and desired only to add his scalp to the rest, he would escape at least with his pride—he would never let her say he had proposed.
"Ah, you must excuse me, Miss Lee," he said, speaking with a formal restraint. "Much as I value your happiness, I—I cannot observe this—custom of the country!"
He spat the words out bitterly, and closed his lips—as if there was more he might say. But Dixie did not lose her smile.