He was no longer the frank and boyish lover of adventure. Life troubled him now, conduct was become less simple, actions each day less easily determined. These women now made him ponder. Cora, who was accustomed to the range and whose interests were his own in many ways, the princess, whose money and influence could get him something to do in Wagon Wheel, and Mary, whose very name made him shudder with remembered adoration—each one now made him think. Mary, of all the group, was most certainly unfitted to share his mode of life, and yet the thought of her made the others impossible to him.
The marshal saw him ride up the street and throw himself from his horse before the post office and hastened toward him with his hand extended. "Hello! Mose, I've got a telegram for you from Sweetwater."
Mose took it without a word and opened it. It was from his father: "Wait for me in Wagon Wheel. I am coming."
The marshal was grinning. "Did you see the write-up in yesterday's Mother Lode?"
"Yes—I saw it, and cussed you for it."
"I knowd you would, but I couldn't help it. Billy, the editor, got hold of me and pumped the whole story out of me before I knew it. I don't think it does you any harm."
"It didn't do me any good," replied Mose shortly.
"Say, the princess wants to see you. She's on the street somewhere now, looking for you."
"Where's the telegraph office?" he abruptly asked.
The telegram from his father had put the idea into his head to communicate in that way with Mary and Jack.