Hardly knowing what she was doing, Diana sprang to her feet. Jim would not look towards her—well, then, she must send him some message. "I think I understand," she said to Bill. "If you will let me, I would like to propose a toast—will you let me?"
The room echoed the assent of the men. They were all cavaliers—all sombreros were off and all bowed low before Diana. The cow-boy has much of the player in him. Hardly able to steady her sweet, tremulous voice, Diana turned directly to Jim and moved nearer to him, while she lifted her glass high in the air.
"To the Queen's champion, Mr.—" She paused, her eyes were blinded, her brain clouded. What was the name he had called himself? "Mr.—" she again repeated.
Bill's voice answered, "Jim Carston's his name, lady."
Higher she held the glass. Jim had turned in amazement. Her eyes met his.
"Mr. Jim Carston." Her voice rang clear and vibrant this time.
"And every son of a gun in this hole drinks to that, or we'll know the reason why—eh, boys?" Bill jubilantly cried. Their boss had brought glory to them that day.
"Jim Carston! Jim Carston!" The name rang through the place, and the toast was drunk with enthusiasm. In the midst of it all the centre door was thrown open and the conductor's big voice bawled:
"All passengers for the Overland Limited—all aboard!"
CHAPTER XVII