“It’s not broodings—it’s business, and I mean it,” he muttered. “Oh, you needn’t look so darned solemn. I’ve no more bad feelin’s agin you. But when you first came to the ranch, you know you couldn’t ride any better than a kid. But you began givin’ yourself airs, an’ then when I thought you were goin’ to cut me out with Barbara I jist got plum crazy. That’s why I sent you fair warnin’.”
A light broke in on Roderick.
“So it was you who slipped that note under Grant Jones’ door, was it?” he asked in great surprise.
“Yas. You can know it now; who cares? But it was only later I saw I was on a blind trail—that it was the other one you’re after—goin’ fishin’ an’ all that sort o’ thing.”
Roderick reddened.
“Oh, that’s all fudge too,” he exclaimed uneasily.
“I’m not so sure ‘bout that,” replied Scotty, with a cunning look in his eyes. “‘Sides, she’s dead gone on you, that’s a cert. She was here all yesterday afternoon, and could speak about nothin’ else—praised yer ridin’ and allowed she was tarnation sorry to have missed seein’ you on Gin Fizz. Which reminds me that I’ve got to comgratulate you on the championship.” He slipped a hand timidly and tentatively from under the bed-spread. “Oh, I can admit myself beat when I’m beat. You’ve grown to be a better’n rider than me. I’m only a little skinny chap at the best, but you showed yourself strong enough to kill that great big steer in the bull-doggin’. You’ve got me skinned, and you hold the championship right enough. Shake.”
And Scotty at last mustered up the moral courage to extend his hand. Roderick took it and shook it warmly. So Gail had been talking about him!—his heart had leaped with joy.
“I’m glad to hear you speak like that, Scotty,” he said with great cordiality. “You and I can come to be mighty good friends.”
“Gee, but I wish I looked like you,” remarked Scotty, lapsing into a half smile. “Shake hands again with me, won’t you?”