YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND
"Well, well," remarked Rimrock after he had started his machine and the desert was gliding smoothly by, "so that's why they call you Miss Fortune, eh? Losing all your money on that stock."
The silent woman who sat beside him closed her lips, but made no reply. He glanced at her curiously. She was deaf, of course, though she seldom showed it—perhaps she had failed to hear.
"But that can be fixed," he said, speaking louder, "you can cut off that Miss, any time."
"Yes," she said with a touch of sarcasm, "I believe I've heard that before."
"But I mean it!" he declared and she smiled rather grimly. "And that!" she answered, whereupon Rimrock flushed. He had used those words before in exactly the same connection. It must be madness, this insane prompting that moved him to talk love to this girl. The first time he had met her, after a scant hour of conversation, he had made that equivocal remark: "How about fifty-fifty—an undivided half?" And many times since, when he came to think of it, he had wondered how the words had slipped out. It was a way he had, of speaking impulsively, but now it was more than that. He had deliberately planned to take her out on the desert and ask her that question again. There was something about her that destroyed his judgment even when, as now, she made no effort to charm.
"Then that shows I mean it!" he answered fatuously. "I meant it, the very first time."
"Well, it's very flattering," she said, dimpling slightly, "but isn't this rather sudden?"
"You bet it's sudden—that's the way I do things!" He dropped the wheel and caught her in his arms.
"Oh, be careful," she cried and as he tried roughly to kiss her she thrust him in the throat with her elbow. They struggled for a moment and then, as the machine made a swerve, she laid her hands on the wheel.