“Sh!” breathed Dorothy. “Watch his face.”
The match flared up, held in the hollow of his hand. The yellow glare of it fell full upon the cowboy’s face.
That was what Dorothy had waited for. She wanted to see what manner of face it was before she spoke—if she spoke at all.
It was a bronzed, beardless, rather reckless countenance; but there was nothing bad in its expression, and if the features were not strikingly handsome they were pleasant. The mouth and eyes laughed too easily, perhaps; but Dorothy risked it. She walked right up to the pony’s surprised head.
“Please!” she said.
The match went out. So did the spark of the cigarette, as it dropped from the man’s fingers.
“Jerusha Juniper!” gasped the man. “I got ’em!”
“Will you please listen?” asked Dorothy.
“A gal—and a gal from back East—shore! Why, yes, Ma’am! I’ll listen tuh yuh,” said the amazed cowboy.
Just then Tavia joined her chum and the man muttered: “There’s two on ’em—Jerusha Juniper!”