The cowboy’s red face slowly wrinkled into a smile. “Wal, I shore was wonderin’ what in the hell made you rustle so lately. I reckon nothin’ would suit me better. I’ve been wonderin’, too, about our little girl.”
“Red, let’s wade through camp and see what we can get to take over.”
“Man, you mean jest steal?” queried King, in mild surprise.
“No. We’ll ask for things. But if we can’t get what we want that way—why, we’ll have to do the other thing,” replied Neale, thoughtfully. “Slingerland did not have even a towel over there. Think of that girl! She’s been used to comfort, if not luxury. I could tell.... Let’s see. I’ve a mirror and an extra brush.... Red, come on.”
Eagerly they went over their scant belongings, generously appropriating whatever might be made of possible use to an unfortunate girl in a wild and barren country. Then they fared forth into the camp. Every one in the corps contributed something. The chief studied Neale’s heated face, and a smile momentarily changed his stern features—a wise smile, a little sad, and full of light.
“I suppose you’ll marry her,” he said.
Neale blushed like a girl. “It—that hadn’t occurred to me, sir,” he stammered.
Lodge laughed, but his glance was kind. “Sure you’ll marry her,” he said. “You saved her life. And, boy, you’ll be a big man of the U. P. some day. Chief engineer or superintendent of maintenance of way or some other big job. What could be finer? Romance, boy. The little waif of the caravan—you’ll send her back to Omaha to school; she’ll grow into a beautiful woman! She’ll have a host of admirers, but you’ll be the king of the lot—sure.”
Neale got out of the tent with tingling ears. He was used to the badinage of the men, and had always retaliated with a sharp and ready tongue. But this half-kind, half-humorous talk encroached upon what he felt to be the secret side of his nature—the romantic and the dreamful side—to which such fancies were unconscionably dear.
Early the next morning Neale and King rode out on the way to Slingerland’s.