Her Prairie Knight | Page 9

phrase, 'The cattle grazing on a thousand hills'? He must have stood just here when he said it."
"Wasn't it one of your American poets? Longfellow, or--er--"
Beatrice simply looked at him a minute and said "Pshaw!"
"Well," he retorted, "you don't know yourself who it was."
"And to think," Beatrice went on, ignoring the subject, "some of those grazing cows and bossy calves are mine--my very own. I never cared before, or thought much about it, till I came out and saw where they live, and Dick pointed to a cow and the sweetest little red and white calf, and said: 'That's your cow and calf, Trix.' They were dreadfully afraid of me, though--I'm afraid they didn't recognize me as their mistress. I wanted to get down and pet the calf--it had the dearest little snub nose but they bolted, and wouldn't let me near them."
"I fancy they were not accustomed to meeting angels unawares."
"Sir Redmond, I wish you wouldn't. You are so much nicer when you're not trying to be nice."
"I'll act a perfect brute," he offered eagerly, "if that will make you love me."
"It's hardly worth trying. I think you would make a very poor sort of villain, Sir Redmond. You wouldn't even be picturesque."
Sir Redmond looked rather floored. He was a good fighter, was Sir Redmond, but he was clumsy at repartee--or, perhaps, he was too much in earnest to fence gracefully. Just now he looked particularly foolish.
"Don't you think my brand is pretty? You know what it is, don't you?"
"I'm afraid not," he owned. "I fancy I need a good bit of coaching in the matter of brands."
"Yes," agreed Beatrice, "I fancy you do. My brand is a Triangle Bar--like this." With a sharp pointed bit of rock she drew a more or less exact diagram in the yellow soil. "There are ever so many different brands belonging to the Northern Pool; Dick pointed them out to me, but I can't remember them. But whenever you see a Triangle Bar you'll be looking at my individual property. I think it was nice of Dick to give me a brand all my own. Mr. Cameron has a pretty brand, too--a Maltese Cross. The Maltese Cross was owned at one time by President Roosevelt. Mr. Cameron bought it when he left college and went into the cattle business. He 'plays a lone hand,' as he calls it; but his cattle range with the Northern Pool, and he and Dick work together a great deal. I think he has lovely eyes, don't you?" The eyes of Beatrice were intent upon the Bear Paws when she said it--which brought her shoulder toward Sir Redmond and hid her face from him.
"I can't say I ever observed Mr. Cameron's eyes," said Sir Redmond stiffly.
Beatrice turned back to him, and smiled demurely. When Beatrice smiled that very demure smile, of which she was capable, the weather-wise generally edged toward their cyclone-cellars. Sir Redmond was not weather-wise--he was too much in love with her--and he did not possess a cyclone cellar; he therefore suffered much at the hands of Beatrice.
"But surely you must have noticed that deep, deep dimple in his chin?" she questioned innocently. Keith Cameron, I may say, did not have a dimple in his chin at all; there was, however, a deep crease in it.
"I did not." Sir Redmond rubbed his own chin, which was so far from dimpling that is was rounded like half an apricot.
"Dear me! And you sat opposite to him at dinner yesterday, too! I suppose, then, you did not observe that his teeth are the whitest, evenest."
"They make them cheaply over here, I'm told," he retorted, setting his heel emphatically down and annihilating a red and black caterpillar.
"Now, why did you do that? I must say you English are rather brutal?"
"I can't abide worms."
"Well, neither can I. And I think it would be foolish to quarrel about a man's good looks," Beatrice said, with surprising sweetness.
Sir Redmond hunched his shoulders and retreated to the comfort of his pipe. "A bally lot of good looks!" he sneered. "A woman is never convinced, though."
"I am." Beatrice sat down upon a rock and rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands--and an adorable picture she made, I assure you. "I'm thoroughly convinced of several things. One is Mr. Cameron's good looks; another is that you're cross."
Oh, come, now!" protested Sir Redmond feebly, and sucked furiously at his pipe.
"Yes," reiterated Beatrice, examining his perturbed face judicially; "you are downright ugly."
The face of Sir Redmond grew redder and more perturbed; just as Beatrice meant that it should; she seemed to derive a keen pleasure from goading this big, good-looking Englishman to the verge of apoplexy.
"I'm sure I never meant to be rude; but a fellow can't fall down and worship