“You’re boss of the military; but, as for the army, I don’t belong. I’m my own boss, colonel.”
The colonel braced himself.
“You’re the daughter of my old friend, and I shall not allow you to put yourself in peril.”
“Peril!” The girl laughed. “Do you think that peril and I are strangers? If you lived nearer the Double D, you’d find plenty to tell you that Dell Dauntless knows how to take care of herself.”
“Be reasonable, can’t you?” stormed the colonel, one eye on Mrs. Colonel, who was weeping copiously in a handkerchief.
“You don’t see my duty as I see it, that’s all,” said Dell. “Do you think I could rest easy a moment after the news received in that telegram?”
“I was a fool to tell you anything about it.”
“You were not, Colonel Grayson. You were just the good, generous friend to me that you have always been. Don’t make a fuss now,” she wheedled, pulling her gauntlets from the breast of her buckskin blouse and swiftly drawing them on. “Remember”—and with gauntleted hand she slapped at one of the holsters—“I have something to defend myself with.”
“Defend fiddlesticks! I’ll not have this folly perpetrated at Grant! What—what do you intend to do?”
“My room is over the porch,” explained Dell. “While I was up there, getting my spurs and my hardware, I overheard your talk with Captain Lund. Sergeant Patterson is going south to Bonita; I’m going with Sergeant Patterson.”