“Now you’re talking!” she commended him breezily.
“How could I do otherwise when you asked me?” he replied with a grave sincerity far more complimentary than mere gallantry.
She colored with pleasure and began to tell him of the cattle and their ways.
When they reached the corral she complimented him in turn by allowing him to offsaddle her horse. They walked on down to the house and seated themselves in the porch. As he opened the bag of mail for her she noticed that her hand was empty and turned to look back towards the corral.
“Your receipt from the postmaster,” she remarked; “I must have dropped it.”
He sprang up. “If you wish to keep it, I shall go back and find it for you.”
“No, oh, no; unless you want it yourself,” she replied.
“Not I. The matter is closed, thanks to your kindness,” he declared, again seating himself.
He was right, in so far as they were concerned. 98 Yet the matter was not closed. That evening, when Knowles and Gowan returned from their day of range riding, the younger man noticed a crumpled slip of paper lying against the foot of the corral post below the place where he tossed up his saddle. He picked it up and looked to see if it was of any value. An oath burst from his thin-drawn lips.
“Shut up, Kid!” remonstrated Knowles. “I’m no more squeamish than most, but you know I don’t like any cussing so near Chuckie.”