The cowman grunted, and winked solemnly at his daughter. “Yes, I can understand your feeling that way. How about the winter, though? You mayn’t like it over here so well then.”
Ashton flushed and laughed at the older man’s shrewdness; hesitated, and confessed candidly: “No, I should prefer Denver in winter.” 74
Miss Isobel blushed in adorable payment of his compliment, but thrust back at him: “We bar cowboys in the Sacred Thirty-six.”
He winced. Her stroke had pierced into his raw wound.
“Oh!––oh!” she breathlessly exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to––Oh, I’m so sorry!”
He dashed the tears from his eyes. “No, you––don’t apologize! It’s only that I’m––Please don’t fancy I’m a baby! You see, when a fellow has always lived high––on top, you know––and then to have everything go out from under him without warning!”
“Keep a stiff upper lip, son,” advised Knowles. “You’ll pull through all right. It isn’t everyone in your fix that would be asking for work.”
Ashton laughed a trifle unsteadily. “It’s very kind of you to say that, Mr. Knowles. I––I wish a steady position, winter as well as summer.”
“How about Denver?” asked Knowles.
“That can wait,” replied Ashton. He met the girl’s smile of approval, and rallied fully. “Yes, that can wait––and so can I.”