“Thanks, Al. Next time I ride down Pine way—in the spring, perhaps—I'll run over an' see how you are.”
“Spring!” ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he shook his head sadly and a far-away look filmed his eyes. “Reckon you'd call some late.”
“Al, you'll get well now. These, girls—now—they'll cure you. Reckon I never saw you look so good.”
Auchincloss did not press his point farther at that time, but after the meal, when the other men came to see Dale's camp and pets, Helen's quick ears caught the renewal of the subject.
“I'm askin' you—will you come?” Auchincloss said, low and eagerly.
“No. I wouldn't fit in down there,” replied Dale.
“Milt, talk sense. You can't go on forever huntin' bear an' tamin' cats,” protested the old rancher.
“Why not?” asked the hunter, thoughtfully.
Auchincloss stood up and, shaking himself as if to ward off his testy temper, he put a hand on Dale's arm.
“One reason is you're needed in Pine.”