His fine eyes lingered on her face with glad and warm glance, and the keen, apprehensive penetration of a lover.
“Well, under all that dust you look scared,” he said.
“Scared! I was worse than that. When I first ran into the flying dirt I was only afraid I’d lose my way—and my complexion. But when the worst of the storm hit me—then I feared I’d lose my breath.”
“Did you face that sand and ride through it all?” he queried.
“No, not all. But enough. I went through the worst of it before I reached the cabin,” she replied.
“Wasn’t it great?”
“Yes—great bother and annoyance,” she said, laconically.
Whereupon he reached with long, arm and wrapped it round her as they rocked side by side. Demonstrations of this nature were infrequent with Glenn. Despite losing one foot out of a stirrup and her seat in the saddle Carley rather encouraged it. He kissed her dusty face, and then set her back.
“By George! Carley, sometimes I think you’ve changed since you’ve been here,” he said, with warmth. “To go through that sandstorm without one kick—one knock at my West!”
“Glenn, I always think of what Flo says—the worst is yet to come,” replied Carley, trying to hide her unreasonable and tumultuous pleasure at words of praise from him.