Knowles merely nodded. Yet in the morning, immediately after the usual early breakfast, Gowan went up to the corral and returned driving a lively pair of broncos to the old buckboard. Ashton happened to come around the house as Knowles stepped from the front door. The cowman was followed by his daughter, attired in a new riding habit and a fashionable hat with a veil.
“You’re just in time, Lafe,” said Knowles. “Saddle a couple of hawsses and follow Chuckie to town. I misdoubt that seat is cramped for three, and a baby to boot.” 126
“But I––it looks quite wide to me,” said Ashton, flushing and drawing back.
“You know the size of Blake and his lady––I don’t,” replied the cowman. “Just the same, I want you to go along with Chuckie. There’s not a puncher in this section would harm her, drunk or sober; but the fellows that come in and go out on the railroad are sometimes another sort.”
“Of course I––if necessary,” stammered Ashton. “Yet may I ask you to excuse me? In the event of trouble, Mr. Gowan, you know––”
“Great snakes!” called Gowan from the buckboard. “Needn’t ask me to go, twice!”
“Can’t spare you today,” said Knowles, his keen eyes fixed on Ashton in unconcealed amazement.
It was inconceivable. For the first time in his career as an employé, the tenderfoot was attempting to evade a duty,––a duty that comprised a fifty-mile ride in company with Miss Isobel Knowles!
The girl looked at Ashton with a perfect composure that betrayed no trace of her feelings.
“I’m sure there’s no reason whatever why Lafe should go, if he does not wish to,” she remarked. “Any of my hawsses will lead to the buckboard.”