Part 7 (1/2)

”For such a very decided young lady, isn't that rather odd?”

”There are some things one can't decide all by one's self.”

”Such as?”

”The next step.”

”Perhaps you will find it easier after a week or two of ranching.”

”You don't think I am going to like ranching?”

”Hardly.”

”Don't you like it?”

”Oh, I'm an old man, with my life behind me.”

The lamp-light on his face was stronger than he was aware; Elizabeth saw a good deal in it which he was not in the habit of displaying to his fellow-creatures. She stooped, and patted one of the collies, and told him she thought she really ought to go to bed; upon which Stanwood rose with alacrity, and conducted her to the museum, which had been turned into a very habitable sleeping-room.

Having closed the door upon his latest ”curiosity,” Stanwood proceeded to perform a solemn rite in the light of the stars. He took his demijohn of old rye, and, followed by the six collies, he carried it out a few rods back of the cabin, where he gravely emptied its contents upon the sandy soil. At the first remonstrating gulp of the demijohn, which seemed to be doing its best to arrest the flow, a strong penetrating aroma a.s.sailed his nostrils, but he never flinched. Great as his confidence was in his own supremacy in his peculiarly intimate relations with old rye, he did not wish to ”take any chances” with himself.

The dogs stood around in an admiring circle, and sniffed perplexedly at the strange libation which was clearly not intended for their kind. Did they realize that it was poured before the altar of parental devotion?

They stood there wagging their tails with great vigor, and never taking their eyes off their master's countenance. Perhaps they appreciated the odd, half-deprecating, half-satirical expression of the face they knew so well. It would have been a pity if somebody had not done so. It is to be feared, however, that the remark with which Stanwood finally turned away from the odorous pool and walked toward the house was beyond the comprehension of the canine intellect. To himself, at least, the remorseful pang was very real with which he said, half aloud, ”Pity to waste good liquor like that! Some poor wretch might have enjoyed it.”

The morning following his visitor's arrival, the two drove together in the rattling old ranch wagon to Cameron City. Elizabeth was enchanted with the ingenious introduction of odd bits of rope into the harness, by means of which the whole establishment was kept from falling apart. She thought the gait of the lazy old nag the most amusing exhibition possible, and as for the erratic jolts and groans of the wagon, it struck her that this was a new form of exercise, the pleasurable excitement and unexpectedness of which surpa.s.sed all former experiences.

At Cameron City she made purchase of a saddle-horse, a very well-made bronco with dramatic possibilities in his eye.

”I don't know where you will get a sidesaddle,” Stanwood had demurred when the purchase was first proposed.

”A sidesaddle? I have it in my trunk.”

”You don't say so! I should think it would jam your bonnets.”

”Oh, I packed it with my ranch outfit.”

So they jogged and rattled over to Cameron City, where Elizabeth had made the acquisition, not only of a saddle-horse, but of two or three most interesting new acquaintances.

”I do like the people so much, papa,” she declared as they drove out of town, having left the new horse to be shod.

”You don't mind their calling you 'Jake Stanwood's gal'?”

”No, indeed! I think it's perfectly lovely!”

”It cannot but be gratifying to me,” Stanwood remarked, in the half-satirical tone he found easiest in conversation with this near relative; ”in fact, I may say it _is_ gratifying to me, to find that the impression is mutually favorable. Halstead, the ruffianly looking sheep-raiser who called you 'Madam,' confided to me that you were the first woman he had ever met who knew the difference between a horse and a cow; and Simmons, the light-haired man who looks like a deacon, but who is probably the worst thief in four counties, told me I ought to be proud of 'that gal'!”

”Oh, papa, what gorgeous compliments! Don't you want a swap?”

”A what?”

”A swap. That's what we call it when we pay back one compliment with another.”