Neither the widow nor her uncle seemed anxious to try, although if they continued to feel disapproval of their ranch manager's action, their faces did not show it.
"That bonfire brat of Gallegher's from down on the range!" exclaimed Fitzrapp with effect.
"Bonfire brat, indeed!" cried Mrs. Andress, rising to the defence of her sex. "Shame on you, Tom Fitzrapp. It's true that the Gallegher outfit is something of a pest in the Fire Weed, but you needn't forget that Bernice has the instincts of a lady. I'll have an apology in behalf of Mother Eve's whole family."
She received and accepted a makeshift in the form of a "Sorry, Ethel."
"Wonder what Bernice is doing in Strathconna?" the widow mused aloud. "Was she in breeches, Tom?"
Fitzrapp shook his head. "Dress—black dress. Didn't know she could look so pretty, the flame lady from Fire Weed."
"Did he—this Childress person—did he seem very attentive?" Mrs. Andress asked, for once forgetting her line.
"Oh, hell!" muttered Fitzrapp.
The old major stepped into the imminent breach.
"You've considerable native shrewdness, Tom, as well as some unreasonable jealousy," he observed. "Outside of his meeting up with Miss Gallegher, what reason can you supply for suspecting a stranger who did us an exceedingly fine turn?"