Presently, dressed, happy, and glowing with the reaction from his icy bath, Bud Larkin appeared out of the dark beside Juliet Bissell. "You are the one who has enabled me to do all this," he said gently. "Now, will you go over with me or will you go down the river to your father two miles away?" She looked up at him proudly. "To the victor belongs the spoils," she said, and lifted her face to him. "Are you going to make me go?" "Darling!" he cried in the sweet, low voice she loved and drew her to him. CHAPTER XXIV THE STORY OF LESTER Bud's sleep of exhaustion was ended by the sound of voices calling to one another. So deep had been his unconsciousness that as he slowly struggled back to light and reason he forgot where he was and what had happened. One thing was certain, the sun had been up a long while, and it was growing extremely hot even under the sheltering cottonwood tree where he lay. The voices continued to call to one another, and Bud finally sat up to investigate. On the opposite bank another camp was being made by bow-legged men who wore heavy chaps over their trousers, broad hats, and knotted neckerchiefs. Some of these men limped, and most of them swore at their cramped toes as they went about the business in hand. A short distance away from where Bud sat some of the sheepmen were lying comfortably on their elbows, chaffing the punchers. "I allow you cowmen're gettin' pretty swell," remarked one. "They tell me yuh kinder hanker after photygrafts of yerselves. How about it?" "Better lose a hoss fer the sake of yer good looks than be a comic valentine all yore life, what?" was the drawling retort. "Mebbe so, but if I'd lost hosses the way you fellers did last night I wouldn't have enough vanity left no ways to look a pony in the left leg. I'd go to raisin' grasshoppers to sell to old ladies' chicken ranches, I plumb would." At this sally such a guffaw of laughter greeted the discomfited punchers that they retired from the field for the time being. Larkin grinned with the rest. Then he turned his attention to the little tent set up near by between two trees. He remembered that Julie had slept there and wondered if she were awake yet. He called her name and presently a very sleepy voice responded, so tender and helpless in its accents that he laughed for joy. "Lazy girl!" he cried. "Do you know what time it is? I've been up for hours." "All right; I'll get up, I suppose. Is breakfast ready?" "Not quite," he replied seriously, "but I'll have the maid bring it in as soon as the eggs are shirred." "Bud Larkin, you're horrid!" she cried. "I don't believe you have even started a fire. Do you expect me to get your breakfast?" "It would tickle me silly," he confessed, unrepentant. "Shall I wait for you? You see the cooks are getting dinner now. Breakfast was over hours ago." "Oh, dear, I suppose so! We're not even married and you want me to cook for you. Oh, dear!"