“When’s Ryan goin’ to dip?” asked Hutter.
“Today or tomorrow,” replied Stanton.
“Reckon we ought to ride over,” went on Hutter. “Say, Glenn, do you reckon Miss Carley could stand a sheep-dip?”
This was spoken in a low tone, scarcely intended for Carley, but she had keen ears and heard distinctly. Not improbably this sheep-dip was what Flo meant as the worst to come. Carley adopted a listless posture to hide her keen desire to hear what Glenn would reply to Hutter.
“I should say not!” whispered Glenn, fiercely.
“Cut out that talk. She’ll hear you and want to go.”
Whereupon Carley felt mount in her breast an intense and rebellious determination to see a sheep-dip. She would astonish Glenn. What did he want, anyway? Had she not withstood the torturing trot of the hardest-gaited horse on the range? Carley realized she was going to place considerable store upon that feat. It grew on her.
When the consultation of the men ended, Lee Stanton turned to Flo. And Carley did not need to see the young man look twice to divine what ailed him. He was caught in the toils of love. But seeing through Flo Hutter was entirely another matter.
“Howdy, Lee!” she said, coolly, with her clear eyes on him. A tiny frown knitted her brow. She did not, at the moment, entirely approve of him.
“Shore am glad to see you, Flo,” he said, with rather a heavy expulsion of breath. He wore a cheerful grin that in no wise deceived Flo, or Carley either. The young man had a furtive expression of eye.