Overland Red Part 45

"Indeed, I should. If I had half your chance, I shouldn't waste a minute in claiming the mate to that glove. One glove is of absolutely no use, you know."

"This one was--pretty much," sighed Collie. "I was feeling like letting go inside and not trying to--to stay any longer, just before it came."

"S-s-s-h! Don't even think of that. Some one called on me a few days ago. You are a very fortunate young man."

Anne Marshall's ambiguity was not altogether displeasing to Collie, in that it was not altogether unintelligible.

William Stanley Winthrop, sojourning briefly but fas.h.i.+onably in Los Angeles, appeared at the hospital in immaculate outing flannels. It was several weeks after his sister's last visit there. Winthrop took the convalescent Collie to the Moonstone Rancho in his car.

Bud Light and Billy Dime accidentally met the car in the valley and accompanied it vigorously through Moonstone Canon.

Aunt Eleanor and Walter Stone were at the gate. Collie was helped to the house and immediately taken to the guest-room. He was much fatigued with the journey. The question in his eyes was answered by Aunt Eleanor.

"Louise rode over to the north range to-day. She should be back now."

Winthrop scarce needed an introduction. He was Anne Marshall's brother.

That was sufficient for the host and hostess. He was made welcome--as he was wherever he went. He had heard a great deal, from his sister, of the Stones, and their beautiful niece, Louise Lacharme. He was enthusiastic about the Moonstone Canon. He grew even more enthusiastic after meeting Louise.

She came riding her black pony Boyar down the afternoon hillside--a picture that he never forgot. Her gray sombrero hung on the saddle-horn.

Her gloves were tucked in her belt. She had loosened the neck of her blouse and rolled back her sleeves, at the spring above, to bathe her face and arms in the chill overflow. Her hair shone with a soft golden radiance that was ethereal in the flicker of afternoon sunlight through the live-oaks. From her golden head to the tip of her small riding-boot she was a harmony of vigor and grace, of exquisite coloring and infinite charm.

Her naturalness of manner, her direct simplicity, was almost, if not quite, her greatest attraction, and a quality which Winthrop fully appreciated.

"I have been quite curious about you, Mr. Winthrop," she said. "You are quite like Anne. I adore Anne. Shall we turn Boyar into the corral?"

If William Stanley Winthrop had had any idea of making an impression, he forgot it. The impression Louise was unconsciously making straightway absorbed his attention.

"Yes, indeed! Turn him into the corral--turn him into _anything_, Miss Lacharme. You have the magic. Make another admirer of him."

"Thank you, Mr. Winthrop. But Boyar could hardly be improved."

"You trained him, didn't you?" queried Winthrop.

Louise laughed. "Yes. But he was well-bred to begin with."

Winthrop e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a mental "Ouch!" Simplicity did not necessarily mean stupidity.

"Do you enjoy mining--the real work--out there in the desert, Mr.

Winthrop?"

"I could enjoy anything in company with Overland."

"Of course. Do you think people who have lots of money are apt to be cynical?" she asked.

"Not more so than people without money. But what splendid animals!" he exclaimed as they approached the corral.

"Uncle Walter and I are very fond of them," she said, turning Boyar into the inclosure.

"Do you know, Miss Lacharme, I like horses and dogs and cats, and I just revel in burros. But animals don't seem to like me. They're rather indifferent to me. I wonder if it is a matter of health, or magnetism, or something of that sort?"

"Oh, no! But it is difficult to explain. Even if you are very fond of animals it doesn't follow that they will like you. That seems rather cold, doesn't it? It's almost unfair."

"Yes, if one considers it seriously."

"Don't you?"

Winthrop gazed at her for a second before replying. "I see I must tell you the truth," he said lightly. "You compel it. It _does_ hurt me to have anything or any one that I care for indifferent to me. Perhaps it's because I realize that I am giving affection and selfishly want 'value returned,' so to speak. Pardon me for becoming serious."

"Surely! But I thank you, too. See Boyar roll! He's happy. No, he doesn't roll because his back itches. You see, he's sweaty where the saddle covered him. Before he rolled, you noticed that he deliberately found a dusty spot. The dust dries the sweat and he doesn't take cold.

That's the real explanation."

"I knew it couldn't be through happiness at leaving you," said Winthrop.

"If you are determined to keep it up," said Louise mischievously, "all right. But be careful, sir! I enjoy it. It's been dull--dreadfully dull since Anne and the doctor left. May I have your knife?"

A belated crimson Colombe rose nodded beneath the guest-room window.

Louise cut the stem and pinned the flower in the lapel of Winthrop's white flannel coat. He gazed at her intent on her task.

"There!" she said, with a light touch of her supple fingers. "That will do." And slowly her gray eyes lifted to his.

The color flooded to his face. His eyes became momentarily brilliant. He drew a deep breath. "You told me to be careful. I shall be," he said, bowing slightly. "Please say something. Your silent attack was a little too--too successful."

"Truce?" she queried, laughing.

"Never!" replied Winthrop. "Even as our rather mutual and distinctly ill.u.s.trious friend Overland says, 'Not till me wires are all down and me lights are out.'"

Collie, standing at the open French window just above them, drew back.

Quite naturally, being a young man in love, he misinterpreted all that he had seen and heard. Louise had been away the day he was expected to return to the ranch. She had come back. She was seemingly satisfied with Winthrop's society. She was even more than satisfied; she was flirting with him. An unreasonable, bucolic jealousy, partly due to his condition, overcame Collie's usual serenity. His invalidism magnified the whole affair to absurd proportions.

Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze that caused Louise to glance up. His expression startled her. His eyes were burning. His face was unnaturally white. He met her glance, but gave no sign of recognition--a rudeness that he regretted even while he manifested it.

Louise turned away proudly, calling Winthrop's attention to a huge garden-seat beneath the live-oaks. "We have dinner out there quite often," she said, her eyes glowing. "Would you care to rest a while after your ride?"

"'A jug of wine--a loaf of bread--'" he quoted.

"But it isn't a wilderness. And dinner won't be ready for an hour yet.

Don't you think a wilderness would have been utterly stupid with his 'thou' beside him singing everlastingly? Now please don't say, 'It would depend on the _thou_.'"

"Do you sing, Miss Lacharme?"

"A little."

"Please, then,--a little. Then I'll answer your question."

"I had rather not, just now."

"My answer would be the same in either case. This is living, after the desert and its loneliness. I discovered one thing out there, however,--myself. It was a surprise. My 'way-back ancestors must have been pirates."