Belinda remembered an errand downstairs.
When she returned the big Texan was sitting on the side of the bed with both the lean little hands in one of his big brawny ones, while his other hand awkwardly smoothed the straight black hair.
"When will you take me home, Daddy?" said the child with the shining eyes.
"As soon as you're strong enough, Honey. The boys wanted me to let them charge New York in a bunch and get you. It's been mighty lonesome on that ranch. I wish to heaven I'd never been fool enough to let you come away."
He turned to Belinda with a quizzical smile sitting oddly on his anxious face.
"I reckon she might as well go, miss. I sent her to a finishing school, and by thunder, she's just about finished."
There was a certain hint of pride in his voice as he added reflectively:
"I might have known if she said she'd have to come home she meant it. Harder to change her mind than to bust any broncho I ever tackled. Queer Little Thing, Baby is."
Copyrighted by Doubleday, Page & Co.