West began slowly: “James, in your riding over the range, have you noticed among any of my cows a scrub, measly-looking red bull? Those calves, back there, show his ear-marks. Last year I told old Savaeau that if he did not kill that damned nuisance I would the first chance I got. And here this season’s calves are again contaminated by scrub breeding.”
Bess had grown so accustomed to hearing discussions of all kinds concerning the cattle and horses that she was deeply interested, and now, before James had time to reply, she spoke:
“Do you know that about three days ago when I was going over to Polson I came across several of your cows and a most terrible looking animal with them! He had a big head like a buffalo, and a dreadful hump; the rest of him looked like—well, like—just cow. Is that the one you are looking for?” She was surprised and hurt at the look the boys gave each other, and then roars and peals of laughter rent the air.
Bess’ cheeks flamed up red and hot, and she gave Mauchacho a cut across the flanks which caused him to leap forward in surprise, and he sped like a streak down the winding road and out of sight behind a low hill. Tears sprang into the girl’s eyes, not so much perhaps at the exchanged glances and laughter, as at the thought that perhaps her unsolicited interest had been misconstrued. She now quietly checked Mauchacho and hastily pulled off her jacket. She brushed her wet cheeks with her sleeve in her haste to appear nonchalant to the approaching horsemen, whom she could hear hastening after her. To her dismay, she discovered that her immaculate sleeve was now all grimy and dust-streaked and knew that her face too must be streaked with dirt. Luckily she had just reached a stream of clear, cold water, and she slipped off her horse and was already bathing her face when Henry West reached her.
He stood silently behind her, watching the lithe, graceful girl, as she bent down to kiss the stream. She glanced over her shoulder, her face dripping with the cool water, her hair wet and falling over her eyes.
“I did not cry—so there—you need not look so sorry,” she said, with half pouting lips that could no longer resist the pulsates of her happy nature, and involuntarily she burst into a merry laugh.
“I am really sorry to have been so rude as to laugh at your remarks, Miss Fletcher,” West was saying, and again he tried in vain to restrain himself.
“What’s up, Sister; fall in the creek?”