"He did?" The cowman could not conceal his astonishment. He looked curiously into the lady's high-bred face. "Well, now, that sure is something to be right proud of--not that I'd have exactly expected you to think so. If you'll excuse me, ma'am, I'm more surprised at the way you feel about it than that he was able to do such a big thing." "No one is responsible for what he is born. But we are at least partly entitled to the credit or discredit of what we become," she observed. "That's good American doctrine, ma'am--Western American!" approved Knowles. "It should apply to women as well as men," she stated. "It ought," he dryly replied, and he jerked up the head of his pawing horse. "Here, you! I guess it's high time we were starting in, ma'am. Kid may think he's to lay over at the ranch until morning. We want to get him out here before dusk. I don't reckon there's any show of that snake coming back tonight, but it's as well to be on the safe side." He walked up the slope towards the others, unbuckling his cartridge belt as he went. "Sling on your saddle, honey," he called to his daughter. The girl sprang up from beside Ashton and ran to fetch her own and Genevieve's picketed ponies. Her father held out his belt and revolver to the engineer. "Here's my Colt's, Mr. Blake," he said. "I have another at home. You won't need it, but I may as well leave it. We're going to lope in now, so as to hustle Kid out to you before night. Just swap me that yearling for my gun. It wouldn't seem natural not to be toting something that can make a noise." "Thomas never cries unless he needs attention," Genevieve sought to defend her infant. "Yes, ma'am. It's a good thing he knows that much already. You have to make yourself heard to get what you want in the world generally, as well as in hostleries and eating-houses." Blake buckled on the cartridge belt, with its holstered revolver, and went to help saddle the ponies. Ashton watched him and Isobel narrowly. He was far from pleased with the familiarity of their talk and manner towards one another. Twice the girl put her hand on Blake's arm. In marked contrast to this affectionate intimacy, Isobel was distrait and hurried when she came to take leave of the wounded man. He had risen to his feet, and she could not ignore his proffered hand. But she avoided his gaze and quickly withdrew her fingers from his warm clasp to hurry off. CHAPTER XXI MADONNA DOLOROSA Blake was cooking supper when, shortly before sunset, Gowan drove up to the waterhole, with a pony in lead behind the heavy wagon. Leaving the wagon with the rope and other articles of his load on the far side of the creek bed, he watered and picketed the horses, and came across to the tent with his rifle and a roll of blankets.