He raised his Dutch comedian hat once more, a trace of romantic mistiness came into his violet eyes, and then he hurried back to his luxurious quarters on the Limited while Dixie May sat and waited for the southbound to take her to Deming. It was not a cheerful journey to contemplate, for New Mexico and Arizona way trains are slow and dusty, and given to making poor connections and unseemly arrivals; but by ten o'clock that evening Dixie Lee hoped to get as far as Deming and then, if the Overland happened to be late too, she could catch a westbound passenger and get to Chula Vista before the hotel closed. The Western Limited pulled out as her train still stood on its track and she glanced at the rear-end of the observation car for a fluttering handkerchief; but Mr. Bowles' emotions seemed to have overcome him, for he was lacking in this last attention. She watched for him with a broad grin; then, when she was sure he was really gone, Dixie May threw herself back in her seat and laughed until she was silly.
She was in good humor all the way to Deming, where the westbound was reported two hours late; but as she was pacing up and down the platform at midnight her face came suddenly straight. The westbound was standing on the track waiting for orders and she was walking along up toward the front when suddenly, through the smoking-car window, she beheld Sir Knight Bowles in eager converse with a grizzled old-timer! If it wasn't he, it was his twin brother—for there was the hard-boiled hat as large as life. The window was a little murky and the air was thick inside, but Dixie May was sure she had seen him—or was she having dreams?
It seemed, somehow, as if she couldn't get that droll creature out of her mind. All the way down from Albuquerque she had been hearing his talk in her ears and laughing at the way he broadened his "a's" and purred and purled over his "r's." At times she had burst into inextinguishable laughter, insomuch that several of the male passengers had regarded her with curious glances and the train boy had tried to get gay with her; but Dixie Lee knew how to settle that kind of folks. A peanut butcher was a peanut butcher to her, and nothing more; and if he neglected to hawk his wares in order to drape himself over the back of her seat she could put him in his place. It was Mr. Bowles that she was thinking of—Mr. Bowles—and when she remembered the innocent look on his face as she filled him up with Indian atrocities and cattle-war stories she just simply had to laugh. But now to find him following her—to discover him on the same train when he was ticketed west out of Albuquerque—well, that was a different thing entirely!
Dixie Lee retired to the sleeper to snatch a few hours of repose and when the dead-eyed porter set her down at Chula Vista she had entirely forgotten her knight. It was five o'clock on a cold March morning and the wind came in from across the prairie with a sweep that chilled the blood. It was so cold that the ticket-agent had ducked back into his inner sanctum before she could so much as hail him—and it was a quarter of a mile up to the hotel! Dixie May took a long look about her; she tried the waiting-room door; then, with a deep-drawn shudder, she turned to go it alone, when lo, a tall and masculine figure stepped out from behind the warehouse and she recognized Mr. Bowles!
"Pardon me, madam," he said, doffing his comedian hat and addressing her as if she were a stranger; "I see you are all alone—can I be of any service to you?"
It was dark, all right, but the idea of Mr. Bowles expecting to conceal his identity by mere starlight! She knew him, of course, the minute she saw his hat, but—well, what was the use of getting haughty about it? Why not do a little play-acting, too, until they got up to the hotel?
"Why—why, yes," she faltered, simulating an appealing weakness. "It's very kind of you, I'm sure. I—I expected my father to meet me here, but——"
"Ah, yes—very unfortunate," put in Bowles promptly. "Is there any hotel near? Just lead the way then, and I'll follow with your luggage. You might put on my overcoat if you're suffering from the cold. Rather not? Very well, then; let's hurry along to the hotel."
They hurried, Bowles struggling with the baggage, of which he had three pieces, and Dixie Lee preparing her valedictory. Yes, much as she regretted it, she would have to bid him farewell—otherwise he might come tagging after her out to the ranch and set the whole country to talking. It was all very well back in New York, or on the train, but in the Tortugas—never! She would have to make her final effort cutting, but she hoped he would not take it too hard—and meanwhile, as a penance for his presumption, he could break his back packing her suitcases up from the station.
"Ah, just a moment!" entreated Mr. Bowles, setting down the suitcases and working his tortured hands. "Oh, no, not heavy at all—perhaps I can fasten them together with this strap."