They rode straight home. On the way Dick went lame and both dismounted to examine him. "This will make you miss your train," she suggested, hypocritically.
He had Dick's foot up. His comment on the remark was very like the rest of his comments. "Not this," he said—and without looking up.
"Do you mean to say you've missed it anyway?" asked Kate.
"What does the sun say?"
She bit her lip: "Too bad," she exclaimed, looking across the distance that still lay between them and the Junction.
"I don't see anything wrong with his foot," he announced, completing his inspection. "I think he wrenched himself."
He said no more till they started again. And then resumed in his odd way just where they had left off talking: "I've been trying to figure out why you wanted me to miss the train." She looked at him in surprise. "I think you did want me to," he continued. "But I can't figure out why."
She protested, but not with too many words. She felt sure he was not easily to be deceived. In any case, however, he was unflinchingly amiable.
After they got back to the Junction the totally unexpected happened. They dismounted and she went into the lunch room. Her victim pursued an examination of Dick's leg. An early supper was being served in the dining-room to a freight train crew. Two of the Doubleday cowboys from the ranch came into the lunch-room from the front door. Kate, at the desk, was making ready to manage her own escape from the scene. The smaller cowboy, walking in last, looked back curiously at her riding companion as he stood with Dick's hoof on his knee. The man slouched up to the counter: "Wouldn't that kill you?" muttered the smaller man to his partner.
"What do you mean?" demanded the other.