“Those wonderful eyes! Did you see them? Deep brown pools of light—only one was green? Did you notice it, Doro?”
“No, I didn’t. I told you not to look at him again. You might have encouraged him to follow us.”
“I wonder how it would feel to be a gambler’s bride. I just feel that he’s from the West and is a gambler, or a cowpuncher—or a maverick—or——”
“You don’t even know what a maverick is,” scoffed Dorothy.
“Yes, I do! A maverick steals cattle,” declared Tavia, quite soberly.
“You ridiculous thing! It’s ‘rustlers’ that steal cattle—or used to. A ‘maverick’ is a stray calf without a brand.”
“Well! he looked as though he had strayed—— Oh, Doro!” gasped Tavia, suddenly. “He’s coming back.”
The girls had reached the bridge and had stopped upon it. The brown water was gurgling over the stones, the birds were twittering in the bushes, and the scent of the wild roses was wafted to them as they leaned upon the bridge-rail.
It was a lovely picture, and Dorothy and Tavia fitted right into it. But the picture did not suit Dorothy and Tavia at all when they saw the black-hatted man round the turn in the road.
They felt just as though the picture needed some action. An automobile with Ned and Nat in it, would have furnished just the life the girls thought would improve the scene.