“Head work,” he mumbled. “Head work. If I don't put over a hot one—”
He started back down the cow trail, recollected Saxon, and called over his shoulder:
“Come on. Let's hustle. I wanta ride over an' look at that.”
So rapidly did he go down the trail and across the field, that Saxon had no time for questions. She was almost breathless from her effort to keep up with him.
“What is it?” she begged, as he lifted her to the saddle.
“Maybe it's all a joke—I'll tell you about it afterward,” he put her off.
They galloped on the levels, trotted down the gentler slopes of road, and not until on the steep descent of Wild Water canyon did they rein to a walk. Billy's preoccupation was gone, and Saxon took advantage to broach a subject which had been on her mind for some time.
“Clara Hastings told me the other day that they're going to have a house party. The Hazards are to be there, and the Halls, and Roy Blanchard....”
She looked at Billy anxiously. At the mention of Blanchard his head had tossed up as to a bugle call. Slowly a whimsical twinkle began to glint up through the cloudy blue of his eyes.
“It's a long time since you told any man he was standing on his foot,” she ventured slyly.