The Fighting Shepherdess | Page 9

have long since discharged him.
"I've ridden about ten extra miles trying to keep you in sight."
"If you'd let them sturrups out like I told you and quit tryin' to set down standin' up, ridin' wouldn't tire you so much." Teeters looked at the English pigskin saddle in frank disgust.
Toomey ignored the criticism and said arrogantly:
"I want you to follow me from now on."
An ominous glint came in the cowboy's eye, but he still grinned.
"I wa'nt broke to foller. Never was handled right when I was a colt. Don't you wait fer me, feller, you jest sift along in and I'll come when I git done."
Judging from the expression on Toomey's face, it seemed to the Major an opportune time to interrupt.
"Since nobody aims to introduce us--" he began good-naturedly, extending a hand. "My name is Prouty--Stephen Douglas Prouty. You've heard of me, like as not."
"Can't say I have," replied Toomey in a tone that made the Major flush as he shook the extended hand without warmth.
To cover his confusion, the Major turned to the sheepherder whose soft brown eyes held an amused look.
"Er--Joe--I'll make you acquainted with Mr. Jasper Toomey, one of our leadin' stockmen in these parts."
The introduction received from Toomey the barest acknowledgment as he directed his gaze to the grazing sheep.
"Where you taking them?" he asked in a curt tone.
"I really couldn't tell you yet."
Toomey glanced at him sharply, attracted by the cultivated tone.
"I wouldn't advise you to locate here; this is my range."
"Own it?" inquired the herder mildly.
"N-no."
"Lease it?"
"N-no."
"No good reason then is there to keep me out?"
"Except," darkly, "this climate isn't healthy for sheep."
"Perhaps," gently, "I'm the best judge of that."
"You'll keep on going, if you follow my advice." The tone was a threat.
"I hardly ever take advice that's given unasked."
"Well--you'd better take this."
The sheepherder looked at him speculatively, with no trace of resentment in his mild eyes.
"Let me see," reflectively. "It generally takes an easterner who comes west to show us how to raise stock from three to five years to go broke. I believe I'll stick around a while; I may be able to pick up something cheap a little later."
A burst of ringing laughter interrupted this unexpected clash between the strangers. It was clear that the lack of harmony did not extend to their young companions, for the lad and the girl seemed deeply interested in each other as their ponies grazed with heads together. The immediate cause of their laughter was the boy's declaration that when he came to see the girl he intended to wear petticoats.
When their merriment had subsided, she demanded:
"Don't you like my overalls?"
He looked her over critically--at her face with the frank gray eyes and the vivid red of health glowing through the tan; at the long flat braid of fair hair, which hung below the cantle of the saddle; at her slender bare feet thrust through the stirrups.
"You'd look pretty in anything," he responded gallantly.
She detected the evasion and persisted:
"But you think I'd look nicer in dresses, don't you?"
Embarrassed, he responded hesitatingly:
"You see--down South where I come from the girls all wear white and lace and ribbon sashes and carry parasols and think a lot about their complexions. You're just--different."
The herder waved his arm. "Way 'round 'em, Shep," and the sheep began moving.
"Good-bye," the girl gathered up the reins reluctantly.
"You didn't tell me your name."
"Katie Prentice."
"Mine's Hughie Disston," he added, his black eyes shining with friendliness. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime."
She answered shyly:
"Maybe."
Toomey started away at a gallop, calling sharply:
"Come on, Hughie!"
The boy followed with obvious reluctance, sending a smile over his shoulder when he found that the girl was looking after him.
"Hope you make out all right with your town," said Teeters politely as, ignoring his employer's instructions, he turned his horse's head in a direction of his own choosing.
"No doubt about it," replied the Major, briskly, gathering up the lines and bringing the stub of a whip down with a thwack upon each back impartially. "S'long!" He waved it at the girl and sheepherder. "I trust you'll find a location to suit you."
"Pardner," said Mormon Joe suddenly, when the Major was a blur in a cloud of dust and the horsemen were specks in the distance, "this looks like home to me somehow. There ought to be great sheep feed over there in the foothills and summer range in the mountains. What do you think of it?"
"Oh--goody!" the girl cried eagerly. "Isn't it funny, I was hoping you'd say that."
He looked at her quizzically.
"Tired of trailing sheep, Katie, or do you think you might have company?"
She flushed in confusion, but admitted honestly:
"Both, maybe."
CHAPTER III
PROUTY
Major Prouty hung over the hitching post in front of the post office listening with a beatific smile to the sound of the saw and the hammer that came from