"Letter!" repeated Dixie incredulously. "What, from his girl? Oh, he'll be all right in a day or so—who ever heard of a cowboy going into a decline? And say, talking about letters, why didn't you take that one I wrote you the other day? I had something mighty special to communicate to you in that, but you'll never get it now! I hope the boys did something to you!"
"Yes," answered Bowles serenely; "they hazed me for a day or two. You seem to have a great many admirers out here, Miss Lee."
Dixie May's eyes flashed at the evident implication, and she had a retort on her lips, but something in his manner restrained her.
"How can I help it if the boys get foolish?" she demanded severely. "And you don't want to let your Eastern ideas deceive you—it's the custom of the country out here."
"Yes, indeed," purled Bowles; "and a very pretty custom, too. Have you just come back from Chula Vista?"
"Yes, I have!" snapped Dixie. "But you don't need to get so superior about it! I guess I can do what I please, can't I?"
"Why, certainly," assented Bowles.
"Well, then, what do you want to get so supercilious for?" raged Dixie. "I don't know, there's something about the way you talk that fairly maddens me! I've a good mind to tell the boys who you are, and have them run you out of the country! Why didn't you take that letter I wrote you?"
She was angry now, and her voice was pitched high for a scolding, but Bowles showed no signs of fear.
"The letter you wrote was addressed to Samuel Houghton," he said; "and that is not my name."