“I was born lazy about running away,” I said.
“Oh, but please, just for once,” Madge begged. “We know already how brave you are.”
I thought for a moment, not so much objecting, in truth, to the running away as to the running away from Madge.
“I’d do it for you,” I said, looking at Miss Cullen so that she understood this time what I meant, without my using any emphasis, “but I don’t see any need of making myself uncomfortable, when I can make the other side so. Come along and see if my method isn’t quite as good.”
We went to the station, and I told the operator to call Rock Butte; then I dictated:
“Direct conductor of Phœnix No. 3 on its arrival at Rock Butte to hold it there till further orders. Richard Gordon, Superintendent.”
“That will save my running and their chasing,” I laughed; “though I’m afraid a long wait in Rock Butte won’t improve their tempers.”
The next few hours were pretty exciting ones to all of us, as can well be imagined. Most of the time was spent, I have to confess, in manœuvres and struggles between Lord Ralles and myself as to which should monopolize Madge, without either of us succeeding. I was so engrossed with the contest that I forgot all about the passage of time, and only when the sheriff strolled up to the station did I realize that the climax was at hand. As a joke I introduced him to the Cullens, and we all stood chatting till far out on the hill to the south I saw a cloud of dust and quietly called Miss Cullen’s attention to it. She and I went to 97 for my field-glasses, and the moment Madge looked through them she cried,—
“Yes, I can see horses, and, oh, there are the stars and stripes! I don’t think I ever loved them so much before.”
“I suppose we civilians will have to take a back seat now, Miss Cullen?” I said; and she answered me with a demure smile worth—well, I’m not going to put a value on that smile.