“Not that I’m aware of,” replied Roderick.
“A most noble young woman, too,” continued the Major. “They are Illinois people. The mother died last year under sad circumstances—all the family fortune swept away. But the girl chanced to own these Wyoming acres in her own right, so she brought her father here, and has started a little cattle ranch, going in for pedigreed dairy stock and likely to do well too, make no mistake. You should just see her swing a lariat,” the speaker added with a ring of admiration in his tone.
Roderick started. Great Scott! could this be the fair horsewoman he had encountered on the mountain side just before the coming of the big snow. But a vigorous slap on his shoulder administered by Grant broke him from reverie.
“Why don’t you say something, old fellow? Isn’t this glorious news? Are you not delighted at the opportunity of tripping the light fantastic toe with a beauty from Illinois as well as our own home-grown Wyoming belles?”
“Well,” replied Roderick slowly, “I have not been attending any of these affairs, although I may do so in this instance.”
“Miss Barbara Shields,” said the Major, “especially requested me to tell you, Mr. Warfield, that she positively insists on your being present.”
“Ho, ho!” laughed Grant. “So you’ve made a hit in that quarter, eh, Roderick? Well, better a prospective brother-in-law than a dangerous rival. Dorothy’s mine, and don’t you forget it.”
Grant’s boyish hilarity was contagious, his gay audacity amusing. Even the Major laughed heartily. But Roderick was blushing furiously. A moment before he had been thinking of one fair charmer. And now here was another being thrown at him, so to speak, although in jest and not in earnest. Barbara Shields—he had never dared to think of her as within his reach even had not loyalty bound his affections elsewhere. But the complications seemed certainly to be thickening.
“Come along, old chap,” said Grant, as they gained the roadway. “We’ll have a look through the town, just to see if there’s any news about.”
THE Bazaar was a popular resort. The proprietor was known as “Southpaw.” Doubtless he had another name but it was not known in the mining camp. Even his bank account was carried in the name of “Southpaw.”