"You've guessed it, Lahoma—yes, the dearest little girl in the world."
"I wish she could have cared for you—THAT way—like your voice sounds," murmured Lahoma.
"Maybe she can," Wilfred's voice grew firmer. "Yes—she MUST!"
"Have you found a gold-mine?"
"What are you talking about, Lahoma? What has a gold-mine to do with it?"
"Because nothing else goes," returned Lahoma decisively. "You might get single statehood for Oklahoma, and write the constitution yourself, and be elected governor—but you'd look just the same to Annabel, unless you had a gold-mine."
Wilfred gave a jerk at his bridle. "Who's talking about Annabel?" he cried rather sharply. He had forgotten that there was an Annabel.
"Everybody is," returned Lahoma, somewhat sharply on her own account, "everybody is, or ought to be!"
"I am not," retorted Wilfred, springing to the ground just in time—for his horse, on being checked, had promptly lain down.
"Then that's what you get!" remarked Lahoma severely, staring down at the dark blur on the trail which her imagination correctly interpreted as the horse stretched out on its side.