Cowboys -- Fiction; Montana -- Fiction; Western stories
“Don't do your shouting too soon. If you could overhear some of the
things he says you wouldn't be so sure--”
“I suppose you take them all for their face value,” grinned Dick
ironically.
“No, I don't! I'm not a simple country girl, let me remind you. Since
you are so sure of him, I'll have the pleasure of saying, 'No, thank
you, sir,' to your Keith Cameron--just to convince you I can.”
“Oh, you will! Well, you just tell me when you do, Trix, and I'll give
you your pick of all the saddle horses on the ranch.”
“I'll take Rex, and you may as well consider him mine. Oh, you men!
A few smiles, judiciously dispensed, and--” Beatrice smiled most
exasperatingly at her brother, and Dick went moody and was very poor
company the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER 10. Pine Ridge Range Ablaze.
At dusk that night a glow was in the southern sky, and the wind carried
the pungent odor of burning grass. Dick went out on the porch after
dinner, and sniffed the air uneasily.
“I don't much like the look of it,” he admitted to Sir Redmond. “It
smells pretty strong, to be across the river. I sent a couple of the
boys out to look a while ago. If it's this side of the river we'll have
to get a move on.”
“It will be the range land, I take it, if it's on this side,” Sir
Redmond remarked.
Just then a man thundered through the lane and up to the very steps of
the porch, and when he stopped the horse he was riding leaned forward
and his legs shook with exhaustion.
“The Pine Ridge Range is afire, Mr. Lansell,” the man announced quietly.
Dick took a long pull at his cigar and threw it away. “Have the boys
throw some barrels and sacks into a wagon--and git!” He went inside and
grabbed his hat, and when he turned Sir Redmond was at his elbow.
“I'm going, too, Dick,” cried Beatrice, who always seemed to hear
anything that promised excitement. “I never saw a prairie-fire in my
life.”
“It's ten miles off,” said Dick shortly, taking the steps at a jump.
“I don't care if it's twenty--I'm going. Sir Redmond, wait for me!”
“Be-atrice!” cried her mother detainingly; but Beatrice was gone to get
ready. A quick job she made of it; she threw a dark skirt over her
thin, white one, slipped into the nearest jacket, snatched her
riding-gauntlets off a chair where she had thrown them, and then
couldn't find her hat. That, however, did not trouble her. Down in the
hall she appropriated one of Dick's, off the hall tree, and announced
herself ready. Sir Redmond laughed, caught her hand, and they raced
together down to the stables before her mother had fully grasped the
situation.
“Isn't Rex saddled, Dick?”
Dick, his foot in the stirrup, stopped long enough to glance over his
shoulder at her. “You ready so soon? Jim, saddle Rex for Miss Lansell.”
He swung up into the saddle.
“Aren't you going to wait, Dick?”
“Can't. Milord can bring you.” And Dick was away on the run.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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