It took her but a moment to diagnose the sad case of Slim, and then the other cowboy had his call from the consulting physician. Bowles was the last man on the circuit, but he did not step out and bow. He did not expect a visit--and, besides, something told him she did not approve of it. So he stood quietly by his horse, and only his eyes followed her as she bore down on him, her head turned back to fling some gay retort and her horse falling into his stride. She rode to the right of him, and as she faced about and met his glance she stared, as if surprised. "Why, hello there, cowboy!" she challenged bluntly; and then, with a smile on her face, she went galloping on toward the ranch. Nobody heard her speak but Bowles; and he, poor, unsophisticated man, was more puzzled than enlightened by her remarks. Of one thing he was sure--she had lowered her voice on purpose, and her words were for him alone. But her smile--was it one of derision, or a token of forgiveness and regard? And her secret greeting--was it an accident, or was she ashamed of his friendship? Perhaps she had weighty reasons for keeping their acquaintance unknown. Somehow, that thought appealed to him above the rest. Perhaps she knew more than he did of the dangers which surrounded him--from Hardy Atkins, or some other jealous suitor, to whom a single smile for him might be the signal for reprisal. They might--why, there were a thousand things they might do if they knew what was in his heart! Bowles ran it all over in his mind: her sudden turning upon him as they approached the Chula Vista hotel; her haughty repudiation of him when he met her at the big house; and now this secret greeting, so carelessly given, yet so fraught with hidden meaning. "Why, hello there, cowboy!" she had said. And she appeared surprised, as if she had not expected to see him in the guise of an ordinary puncher. She had smiled, too; but--well, a little too broadly. Of course, out in the West--but, even then, it was a little broad. CHAPTER XI CONEY ISLAND It is wonderful how much a smile, or even a grin, will do for a disconsolate lover. Bowles woke suddenly to the beauties of nature and the wild joy of living; and that evening, instead of dropping into his blankets like a dead man, he tarried by the fire. A chill wind swept in from the frigid north, and the smoke guttered and flurried from the burning logs; but the cowboys sat about in their shirt-sleeves and blinked patiently when they caught the smoke. Inside the bunk-house the noise of the perpetual pitch game told where battles were being lost and won, a secret understanding that every game was worth a quarter on pay-day being the contributing cause for the excitement, since Henry Lee allowed no gambling among his punchers. But outside everybody was either broke or in the hole, and so there was nothing but peace and amity and long-winded arguments.