“A woman’s mission in life is to encourage men to do the proper thing,” replied Grace with roguish defiance. “Our friend here is enamored of the West, and the West is the very best place for him. I’ll post your letter, lieutenant.”
He placed it between her fingers, doffed his hat, and bowed gallantly.
“Be it so. Let the gods—or should I say, a fair goddess?—decide.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” cried Grace, with a pretty flush on her face. “Good-bye, then, for the present. Get ready for Sunday’s picnic among the oaks. Come along, Merle, my dear.”
And with a touch of the quirt she started her pony into a canter.
“Great guns, but she’s worth while,” exclaimed Munson as he gazed after the retreating figures.
CHAPTER VII—Old Bandit Days
ON the evening of the day that followed the big round-up of cattle, Dick Willoughby and Chester Munson rode over to the store. As they cantered along, both men were pre-occupied with their thoughts.