He growled angrily at the lagging horses.
Cyril rode close to the left-hand side of the democrat, his fur chapps at times brushing the girl. They looked at each other, flushed, turned away and looked back. For some time they rode along in an electric silence, tongue-tied but happy. Conversation at last bubbled forth, but of that which filled their young hearts to the brim no word was said; they talked of the common everyday topics of the ranching country.
"Well, how's things at D. D. D.?"
"Not too bad. How's things at Bar Q?"
"Jake-a-loo. Stock in plumb good shape. Two hundred and eighty calves dropped already. Expectin' all of two thousand this spring."
"Two thousand calves! Oh, my! That's an awful sight of cattle." She sighed. "We just got six head."
"That's not too bad. Bull Langdon started with less than that. I got twenty head of my own. Hope to ketch up with the Bull by'n by."
They laughed heartily at that. Not so much because of the wit and brilliance of the remark, but because their hearts were young, the spring had come, the sun was overhead and it was good to hear each other's voices and to look into each other's eyes.
"What's your brand?"