Rowdy of the Cross L | Page 7

superior as the greeting of Central. "Were you looking for me, Mr. Vaughan?"
She was close to him--so close that she had not needed to raise her voice perceptibly. Rowdy rode up alongside, remembering uncomfortably his prolonged shouting.
"I sure was," he admitted. And then: "You rode off with my blanket on." He was very proud of his matter-of-fact tone.
"Oh!" Miss Conroy was almost deceived, and a bit disappointed. "I'll give it to you now, and you can go back--if you know the way."
"No hurry," said Rowdy politely. "I'll go on and see if you can find a place that looks good to you. You seem pretty particular."
Miss Conroy may have blushed, in the shelter of the blanket. "I suppose it did look strange to you," she confessed, but defiantly. "Bill Brown is an enemy to--Harry. He--because he lost a horse or two out of a field, one time, he--he actually accused Harry of taking them! He lied, of course, and nobody believed him; nobody could believe a thing like that about Harry. It was perfectly absurd. But he did his best to hurt Harry's name, and I would rather freeze than ask shelter of him. Wouldn't you--in my place, I mean?"
"I always stand up for my friends," evaded Rowdy. "And if I had a brother--"
"Of course you'd be loyal," approved Miss Conroy warmly. "But I didn't want you to come on; it isn't your quarrel. And I know the way now. You needn't have come any farther "
"You forgot the blanket," Rowdy reminded wickedly. "I think a lot of that Navajo."
"You insisted upon my taking it," she retorted, and took refuge in silence.
For a long hour they plodded blindly. Rowdy beat his hands often about his body to start the blood, and meditated yearnigly upon hot coffee and the things he liked best to eat. Also, a good long pull at a flask wouldn't be had, either, he thought. And he hoped this little schoolma'am knew where she was going--truth to tell, he doubted it.
After a while, it seemed that Miss Conroy doubted it also. She took to leaning forward and straining her eyes to see through the gray wall before.
"There should be a gate here," she said dubiously, at last.
"It seems to me," Rowdy ventured mildly, "if there were a gate, it would have some kind of a fence hitched to it; wouldn't it?"
Miss Conroy was in no mood for facetiousness, and refused to answer his question. "I surely can't have made a mistake," she observed uneasily.
"It would be a wonder if you didn't, such a night as this," he consoled. "I wouldn't bank on traveling straight myself, even if I knew the country--which I don't. And I've been in more blizzards than I'm years old."
"Rodway's place can't be far away," she said, brightening. "It may be farther to the east; shall we try that way--if you know which is east?"
"Sure, we'll try. It's all we can do. My packhorse is about all in, from the way he hangs back; if we don't strike something pretty soon I'll have to turn him loose."
"Oh, don't do that," she begged. "It would be too cruel. We're sure to reach Rodway's very soon."
More plodding through drifts high and drifts low; more leaning from saddles to search anxiously for trace of something besides snow and wind and biting cold. Then, far to the right, a yellow eye glowed briefly when the storm paused to take breath. Miss Conroy gave a glad little cry and turned Badger sharply.
"Did you see? It was the light from a window. We were going the wrong way. I'm sure that is Rodway's."
Rowdy thanked the Lord and followed her. They came up against a fence, found a gate, and passed through. While they hurried toward it, the light winked welcome; as they drew near, some one stirred the fire and sent sparks and rose-hued smoke rushing up into the smother of snow. Rowdy watched them wistfully, and wondered if there would be supper, and strong, hot coffee. He lifted Miss Conroy out of the saddle, carried her two long strides, and deposited her upon the door-step; rapped imperatively, and when a voice replied, lifted the latch and pushed her in before him.
For a minute they stood blinking, just within the door. The change from numbing cold and darkness to the light of the overheated room was stupefying.
Then Miss Conroy went over and held her little, gloved hands to the heat of the stove, but she did not take the chair which some one pushed toward her. She stood, the blanket shrouding her face and her slim young figure, and looked about her curiously. It was not Rodway's house, after all. She thought she knew what place it was--the shack where Rodway's hay-balers bached.
From the first, Rowdy did not like the