"Tolerable," answered the man, "I've been with him most every day for a year."

A swift smile curved the red lips--a smile that hinted of craft rather than levity. "I wonder what's worrying him most, nowadays--Mr. Colston, I mean."

"Worryin' him?" The Texan's eyes twinkled. "Well, a man runnin' an outfit like the Y Bar has got plenty on his mind, but the only thing that right down worries him is the hair on his head--an' just between you an' me, he ain't goin' to have to worry long."

The air of reserve--of veiled hostility dropped from the girl like a mask, and she laughed--a spontaneous outburst of mirth that kindled new lights in the blue-black eyes, and caused a fanlike array of little wrinkles to radiate from their corners: "I'll answer your question now,"

she said. "I'm Mrs. n.o.body, thank you--I'm Janet McWhorter. But what are you doing on this side of the river? And how's Mr. Colston?"

"He's just the finest ever," replied the cowboy, and the girl was quick to note the deep feeling behind the words. "An' I--two of us--were tryin' to cross on the Long Bill's ferry from Timber City, an' the drift piled up again' us so we had to cut the cable, an' we got throw'd into sh.o.r.e against the bench three or four miles above here."

"Where's your friend? Is he hurt?" Her eyes rested with a puzzled expression upon the edge of the white bandage that showed beneath the brim of his hat.

The Texan shook his head: "No, not hurt I reckon. Just plumb wore out, an' layin' asleep on the bank. I've got to go back."

"You'll need two horses."

The man shook his head: "No, only one. We had our horses with us. We lost one in the river, an' the other pulled us ash.o.r.e, an' then beat it up the coulee. I can catch him up all right, if I can get holt of a horse."

"Of course you can have a horse! But, you must eat first----"

"I can't stop. There'll be time for that later. I'm goin' to bring--my friend back here."

"Of course you're going to bring him back here! But you are about all in yourself. Three or four miles through the mud and across the coulees in high-heeled boots, and with your head hurt, and sopping wet, and no breakfast, and--I bet you haven't even had a smoke! Come on, you can eat a bite while I fix up something for your friend, and then you can tackle some of Dad's tobacco. I guess it's awful strong but it will make smoke--clouds of it!"

She turned and led the way to the house and as the Texan followed his eyes rested with a suddenly awakened interest upon the girl. "Curious she'd think of me not havin' a smoke," he thought, as his glance strayed from the shapely ankles to the well-rounded forearms from which the sleeves of her grey flannel shirt had been rolled back, and then to the ma.s.s of jet black hair that lay coiled in thick braids upon her head. He was conscious that a feeling of contentment--a certain warm glow of well-being pervaded him, and he wondered vaguely why this should be.

"Come right on in," she called over her shoulder as she entered the door. "I'll have things ready in a jiffy?" As she spoke, she slid a lid from the top of the stove, jammed in a stick of firewood, set the coffee-pot directly on to the fire, and placed a frying pan beside it.

From a nail she took a slab of bacon and sliced it rapidly. In the doorway the Texan stood watching, in open admiration, the swift, sure precision of her every move. She glanced up, a slice of bacon held above the pan, and their eyes met. During a long moment of silence the man's heart beat wildly. The girl's eyes dropped suddenly: "Crisp, or limber?"

she asked, and to the cowboy's ears, the voice sounded even richer and deeper of tone than before.

"Limber, please." His own words seemed to boom harshly, and he was conscious that he was blushing to the ears.

The girl laid the strips side by side in the pan and crossed swiftly to a cupboard. The next moment she was pouring something from a bottle into a gla.s.s. She returned the bottle and, pa.s.sing around the table, extended the half-filled tumbler. The liquid in it was brown, and to the man's nostrils came the rich bouquet of good whisky. He extended his hand, then let it drop to his side.

"No, thanks," he said, "none for me."

She regarded him in frank surprise. "You don't drink?" she cried.

"Why--oh, I'm glad! I hate the stuff! Father--sometimes--Oh, I hate it!

But, a cowboy that don't drink! I thought they all drank!"

The Texan stepped to her side and, reaching for the gla.s.s, set it gently upon the table. As his hand touched hers a thrill shot through his veins, and with it came a sudden longing to take the hand in his own--to gather this girl into his arms and to hold her tight against his wildly throbbing heart. The next moment he was speaking in slow measured words.

"They all do--me along with the rest. But, I ain't drinkin' now."

CHAPTER XI

AT THE MOUTH OF THE COULEE

The girl's eyes flashed a swift glance into his, and once more raised to the bandage that encircled his head, then, very abruptly, she turned her back toward him, and busied herself at the stove. A plate of sizzling bacon and a steaming cup of coffee were whisked onto the table and, as the cowboy seated himself, she made up a neat flat package of sandwiches.

As Tex washed down the bacon and bread with swallows of scalding coffee, she slipped into an adjoining room and closed the door. Just as he finished she reappeared, booted and spurred, clad in a short riding skirt of corduroy, her hands encased in gauntleted gloves, and a Stetson set firmly upon the black coiled braids. A silk scarf of a peculiar burnt orange hue was knotted loosely about her neck.

Never in the world, thought the man as his eyes rested for a moment upon the soft, full throat that rose from the open collar of her shirt, had there been such absolute perfection of womanhood; and his glance followed the lithe, swift movements with which she caught up the package of lunch and stepped to the door. "I'm going with you," she announced.

"Father's up at the lambing camp, and I've fed all the little beasties."

A lamb tumbled awkwardly about her legs and she cuffed it playfully.

As the Texan followed her to the corral, his thoughts flashed to Alice Endicott lying as he had left her beside the river--flashed backward to the moment of their first meeting, to the wild trip through the bad lands, to their parting a year ago when she had left him to become the bride of his rival, to the moment she had appeared as an apparition back there in the saloon, and to the incidents of their wild adventure on the flat-boat. Only last night, it was--and it seemed ages ago.

Thoughts of her made him strangely uncomfortable, and he swore softly under his breath, as his glance rested upon the girl who had stooped to release a rope from a saddle that lay beside the corral gate. She coiled it deftly, and stepping into the enclosure, flipped the noose over the head of a roman-nosed roan. The Texan stared. There had been no whirling of the rope, only a swift, sure throw, and the loop fastened itself about the horse's throat close under his chin. The cowboy stepped to relieve her of the rope, but she motioned him to the other animal, a gentle looking bay mare. "I'll ride Blue, you take the mare," she said.

He surveyed the roan dubiously: "He looks snorty. You better let me handle him."

She shook her head: "No, I've ridden him before. Really, I'm quite a twister. You can help saddle him, though."

The saddling proved to be no easy task. The animal fought the bit, and shied and jumped out from under blanket a half-dozen times before they finally succeeded in cinching him up. Then, Tex saddled the mare, and led both horses through the gate. Outside the corral, the girl reached for the roan's reins but the man shook his head. "I'll ride him, you take the bay."

The girl stared at him while the slow red mounted to her cheeks. There was a note of defiance in her tone as she answered: "I tell you I am going to ride him. I've ridden him, and I'll show him that I can ride him again."

The Texan smiled: "Sure, I know you can ride him--I knew that when I saw you catch him up. But, what's the use? He's got a bad eye. What's the use of you takin' a chance?"

The girl hesitated just a moment: "You're in no condition to ride him, you're hurt, and all tired out----"

The cowboy interrupted her with a laugh: "I ain't hurt to speak of, an'

since I got that coffee inside me, I'm good for all day an' then some."

"Whose horse is Blue? And what right have you to tell me I can't ride him?"

"Whose horse he is, don't make any difference. An' if I ain't got the right to tell you not to ride him, I'll take the right."

"Well, of all the nerve! Anybody would think you owned the earth!"

The Texan regarded her gravely: "Not much of it, I don't. But, I'm goin'

to own more----"

"More than the earth!" she mocked.

"Yes--a whole heap more than the earth," he answered, as his steady grey eyes stared straight into her own stormy, blue-black ones. Then, without a word, he extended the reins of the mare, and without a word, the girl took them and mounted.

As the cowboy swung into the saddle, the blue roan tried to sink his head, but the man held him up short, and after two or three half-hearted jumps the animal contented himself with sidling restlessly, and tonguing the bit until white, lathery foam dripped from his lips.

As the girl watched the animal the resentment died from her eyes: "That's the littlest fuss I ever saw Blue kick up," she announced.

The Texan smiled: "He's on his good behaviour this mornin'."

"He saw it was no use," she replied, quickly. "Horses have got lots of common sense."