“Take yore time,” advised Cultus. “C’mon, sheriff; we’ll ride that sorrel double, and give Mac Rawls the race of his life.”
The sorrel objected strenuously, but the double burden was too much for a sustained bucking match; so he suddenly decided to run—and they let him.
At the JK ranch Della awoke early that morning and stared around the room, trying to remember where she was. A twinge through her ankle brought back the memory of what had happened the night before. Outside her open window a mocking-bird danced along the branch of a sycamore, scolding softly. She could hear voices down in the patio, but could not distinguish the words.
For a long time she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, wondering what to do, thinking of the way Jane had treated her. The ankle was still sore, but did not pain her at all. She looked at it, and found that the swelling had subsided greatly.
Some one knocked gently on her door. It was Jane, with a smile on her face.
“I wondered if you were awake,” she said. “How is the ankle?”
“Very much better, thanks to you, Miss Kelton.”
“That’s fine; but everybody calls me Jane.”
Della sighed deeply and looked out of the window.
“You are a very wonderful girl, Jane.”