"I guess I'm a-getting old, sure enough," said Bill. "This is beyond me." Wilfred looked at Lahoma questioningly. Brick, stupefied by violence done that sacred instrument of civilization, stood rooted to the spot. Mizzoo was grinning now. "You see," he explained, "word come today that the Supreme Court has at last turned in its decision. Prairie Dog Fork is now Red River, and 'Red River' is only the North Fork of Red River--and that means that Greer County don't belong to Texas, and never did belong to her, but is a part of Oklahoma." "And you'll never have an Oklahoma writ served on you," cried Lahoma, "not while I'm living! And you'll go with us to our farm and live with us, you and Bill and..." Lahoma had expected to be very calm and logical, for she knew she had all the advantage on her side. But when she saw the change in Brick's eyes, she forgot her rights; she forgot all that watching crowd; she forgot even Wilfred--and with a spring she was in Brick's arms, sobbing for joy. He tried to say something about her Boston kin, but he could not express the thought coherently, for giant as he was, he was sobbing, too. "If there's ever a meeting," she said, between tears and laughter, "the East will have to come to the West!" "Those Boston folks," cried Bill, with a sudden upheaval of unwonted humor, "can simply go to--beans! I'm a-getting down," he added, cautiously lowering himself from his pony; "I guess I'm in this, too." "You're in it," growled Brick, "but you're on the outskirts. Don't come no nearer." He stroked the head that rested on his breast, his great hand moving with exceeding gentleness. He gazed over her brown glory, at the sympathetic crowd. "Fellows," he cried, "just look what I've raised!" "Boys," exclaimed Mizzoo, "what do you say? Let's give three cheers for Lahoma." Wilfred's voice cut across the last word, proud and happy: "Make it Lahoma of Oklahoma!"