"
"Oh, Laddy, you've been hurt!" cried Nell, as with white cheeks
and dilating eyes she ran to him and caught his arm.
"Nell, I only run a thorn in my ear."
"Oh, Laddy, don't lie! You've lied before. I know you're hurt.
Come in to mother."
"Shore, Nell, it's only a scratch. My bronch throwed me."
"Laddy, no horse every threw you." The girl's words and accusing
eyes only hurried the ranger on to further duplicity.
"Mebbe I got it when I was ridin' hard under a mesquite, an' a
sharp snag--"
"You've been shot!...Mama, here's Laddy, and he's been shot!....Oh,
these dreadful days we're having! I can't bear them! Forlorn River
used to be so safe and quiet. Nothing happened. But now! Jim
comes home with a bloody hole in him--then Dick--then Laddy!....Oh,
I'm afraid some day they'll never come home."
The morning was bright, still, and clear as crystal. The heat waves
had not yet begun to rise from the desert.
A soft gray, white, and green tint perfectly blended lay like a
mantle over mesquite and sand and cactus. The canyons of distant
mountain showed deep and full of lilac haze.
Nell sat perched high upon the topmost bar of the corral gate. Dick
leaned beside her, now with his eyes on her face, now gazing out
into the alfalfa field where Belding's thoroughbreds grazed and
pranced and romped and whistled. Nell watched the horses. She
loved them, never tired of watching them. But her gaze was too
consciously averted from the yearning eyes that tried to meet hers
to be altogether natural.
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