Louise smiled dreamily. Then the clatter of Boyar's shod hoofs rang and reëchoed, finally to hush in the gravel of the ford beyond.
Why Louise thought of Collie just then, it would be difficult to imagine. Still, she had, ever since his night's vigil with the blunder colt, caught herself noting little details associated with him and his work. He brushed his teeth. Not all of the other men did. He did not chew tobacco. Despite his lack of early training, he was naturally neat. He disliked filth instinctively. His bits, spurs, and trappings shone. He had learned to shoe his string of ponies—an art that is fast becoming lost among present-day cowmen. With little comment but faithful zeal he copied Brand Williams. This, of course, flattered the taciturn cowman, who unobtrusively arranged Collie's work so that it might bring the younger man before the notice of Walter Stone, and incidentally Louise. Of course, Louise was not aware of this.
The girl no longer sang as she rode, but dreamed, with unseeing eyes on the trail ahead—dreamed such dreams as one may put aside easily until, perchance, the dream converges toward reality which cannot be so lightly put aside.
Brand Williams had his own ideas of romance; ideas pretty well submerged in the deeps of hardy experience, but existing, nevertheless, and as immovable as the bed of the sea. He badgered Collie whenever he chanced to have seen him with the Rose Girl, and smiling inwardly at the young man's indignation, he would straightway arrange that Collie should ride to town, for, say, a few pounds of staples wanted in a hurry, when he knew that the buckboard would be going to town on the morrow, and also that there were plenty of staples in the storeroom.
Something of the kind was afoot, or rather a-saddle, as Louise rode down the Moonstone Trail, for beyond the turn and the rippling ford she saw a lithe, blue-shirted figure that she knew.
Louise would not have admitted even to herself that she urged Boyar. Nevertheless the reins tightened and slackened gently. Boyar swung into his easy lope. It pleased the girl that Collie, turning in his saddle at the sound of hoofs, waved a salute, but did not check his horse. He had never presumed on her frank friendship and "taken things for granted." He kept his place always. He was polite, a little reticent, and very much in love with Louise. Louise did not pretend to herself that she was not aware of it. She was all the more pleased that Collie should act so admirably. She had loaned him books, some of which he had read faithfully and intelligently. In secret he had kissed her name written on the flyleaf of each of them. He really rather adored Louise than loved her, and he builded well, for his adoration (unintimate as adoration must ever be until perchance it touches earth and is translated into love) was of that blithe and inspiriting quality that lifts a man above his natural self and shapes the lips to song and the heart to unselfish service. He knew himself to be good-looking and not altogether a barbarian. No morbid hopelessness clouded his broad horizon. He knew himself and cherished his strength and his optimism. He ate slowly, which is no insignificant item on the credit side of the big book of Success.
Collie lifted his broad-brimmed hat as Louise rode up. His face was flushed. His lips were smiling, but his dark eyes were steady and grave.
"'Morning, Collie! Boyar is just bound to lope. He never can bear to have a horse ahead of him."
"He don't have to, very often," said Collie.
"Of course, there are Kentucky saddle-horses that could beat him. But they are not cow-ponies."