"Of course not close enough to see his face, but his general appearance in the saddle, and—Ethel, it seems to me pretty hard hearted of you to be so careless of my life after all I've been through. Is the herd more to you than——"
But the high-tempered young widow had not heard his plea. The sounding of a door sharply closed interrupted him.
The two who had returned from the fray looked at each other. "In the hero market, us two would sell pretty cheap, if the widow was the only bidder," remarked Greetings, with a grin that did not make him any more seemly. "She don't think we're anything because we ain't corpses."
"You might have been more thrilling in detailing the encounter," complained Fitzrapp.
"Never was no good nohow a-gildin' of lilies," remarked the breed, unlimbering himself from the steps and crawfishing in the direction of the bunk house.
CHAPTER XIX.
SURPRISES FOR FLAME.
Dusk was just about to crash into night, as it has a habit of doing on the Canadian plains until summer comes along with its near-midnight daylight, when Flame Gallegher loped up to the small lake that lay in front of the straggly Lazy G establishment. Since sun-up she had been in the saddle, riding hard on the cattle that wore her personal brand, shooting a few coyotes that she found looking for "doggies," helping a cow or two that needed aid in the throes of range motherhood, enjoying the vigorous air, and wondering a lot about what might be going on to the eastward—on the Open A, where the attractive mystery man had settled down with his queer Irish helper, and on the Rafter A where the difficult widow held court.
She was tired, was Bernice, although the flame of her would not admit it. Her horse was tired, a fact that needed no admission, for its rider knew. She guided him into the lake at a point where the gravelly bottom shelved gently and, with her puttee-clad legs draped around the saddle horn, waited until thirst had been slaked. Then she headed to the stable for a hurried unsaddling, realizing from the sounds that came from the cook-shack that she was late for supper and need expect no help.
The first surprise came to Flame when she led her unleathered mount into the barn. There, in one of the comfortable box-stalls reserved for the prize horses of the Lazy G, stood Silver, munching his rations of oats as contentedly as though he belonged.