Bancroft abruptly changed the subject, and presently the talk drifted to a story that had just come out about the postmaster at Randall. “It’s a characteristic New Mexican tale,” said Curtis, turning to the ladies. “You’ll soon find out, Miss Bancroft, if you don’t know it already, that the cowboy song of ‘What was your name in the States?’ can often be applied in earnest.”
“Confound the fellow,” thought Bancroft irritably, “why is he always harping on that subject!”
“This is a particularly audacious case, though—don’t you think so, Aleck?” Curtis went on. “Here this man has been living for several years in Randall, a respected citizen, holding office, with influence in the community, when, behold, it is discovered that just before coming here he had skipped from some town in Missouri, where he was postmaster, with all the money in his office and another man’s wife. But his sin has finally found him out.”
“It always does,” observed Lucy coolly.
Louise Dent was conscious of a fluttering in her throat and realized that her heart was beating loudly. The moment’s pause that followed seemed to her so long that she rushed into speech, without thought of what she said: “I’m afraid it does.”
“Why do you say ‘afraid,’ Dearie?” asked Lucy, with surprise. “Isn’t it right that it should?”
Louise made brief and noncommittal reply and Bancroft hurriedly asked Curtis how the round-up was getting on.
“Well, we’ve got the thing started, and are ready to move the cattle on the north part of the range toward Pelham. We’ll begin shipping within two or three weeks. But something seems to have struck the cowboy market this year; I’ve been short of hands all the Spring.”
“Perhaps I can give you some help,” said Bancroft. “A Mexican from up North has been to me looking for work. He came the day you had the chase after Melgares and was in again to-day. He has worked for Baxter, and Dell says he is an expert cowboy and sure to give satisfaction.”
“He must be an unusual sort of greaser if he’s looking for work,” laughed Conrad. “If he’s that sort, I guess he’ll strike my gait.”