At the end of another day Sandy became restless; his capacity for loafing was exhausted.
"Let"s go get a bear," he proposed.
"Deer"s better meat," said McHale; "also easier to get. I won"t climb after no bear."
Nevertheless, he accompanied Sandy down the valley. They saw no bear; but they shot a young buck, and returned to camp with the carca.s.s lashed behind Sandy"s saddle. Although it was closed season, they needed the meat, and game wardens were not likely to intrude.
But when they came in sight of their camp they saw old Simon reclining in grandeur on their blankets, smoking.
"The nerve of that buck!" snorted McHale. "Get off of that bed, you old copperskin. Think I want to wash them blankets?"
Simon obeyed, but he drew a letter from his pocket.
"Papah," said he. "Casey."
McHale read Casey"s warning as to Dade, and whistled softly, pa.s.sing the letter to Sandy.
"So this here Dade makes it a feud, does he?" he said meditatively.
"All right, he can have it that way. Same time, I"m goin" to keep out of trouble long as I can. I"ll stay cached mighty close, and I"ll run like blazes before I"ll fight. Simon, how"d you find this camp?"
"Find um easy," said Simon scornfully. He pointed to the carca.s.s of the deer. "S"pose you _mamook_ cook um."
CHAPTER XXVII
In the morning Sheila awoke stiff and sore, but rested. Her strong young body, hard and well conditioned by a life in the open and much healthy exercise, refused to indulge in the luxury of after effects of shock. Looking around, she found that her clothes were gone. But spread ready for her was a dainty morning costume, which she knew for Clyde Burnaby"s. Dressing quickly, she entered the breakfast room.
Clyde, sitting by the window, rose, smiling, as she entered.
"I hope they fit," she said. "How do you feel, Miss McCrae?"
"They fit very well, and I feel first rate," said Sheila. "I"m sore in spots, but I"ll limber up when I get moving. Where is Mrs. Wade? I suppose Casey has gone to Talapus."
"Kitty"s busy cleaning your riding clothes," Clyde replied. "Casey has gone; I haven"t seen him."
It was the first time she had used his given name to a third person. It slipped out naturally, and she coloured a trifle, but Sheila did not appear to notice. They breakfasted together, and later sat on the veranda enjoying the perfect morning after the storm. Naturally, they spoke of the events of the preceding day and night. Sheila took a practical view.
"It was lucky Tom McHale wasn"t here," she said. "Somebody would have been hurt. That"s what I was afraid of."
"It was very brave of you," said Clyde. "I admire you more than I can say. I want you to know it, Miss McCrae."
"Oh, that"--Sheila dismissed the warm praise with a wave of her brown hand--"why, it wasn"t anything; only a wet ride in the dark. If my horse had kept his feet it would have been all right. I simply had to come. Don"t try to make me think myself a heroine. You"d do the same thing yourself for a friend."
"I"m afraid I couldn"t. I"m not much of a rider, and I couldn"t have found my way in the dark."
"Well, that"s no credit to me. I"ve been riding all my life, and I know every foot of this country. Of course, I"d do anything for Casey or Tom."
"Yes," said Clyde, "they both think a great deal of you, I know."
"No more than I think of them--especially Casey. Some day I suppose he"ll get married, and then I"ll have to call him "Mr. Dunne.""
"That won"t be necessary."
"Oh, yes, it will. His wife wouldn"t stand for "Casey.""
"Yes, she will," said Clyde. Sheila turned and looked at her keenly.
"We are going to be married," Clyde added.
"You don"t mean it!" Sheila exclaimed. "Well, you are a lucky girl, if you don"t mind my saying so. Casey"s _white_. I congratulate you with all my heart. And he"s lucky, too; yes, he is."
"You--you don"t mind?" Clyde ventured. She thought it quite possible that Sheila might care for Casey, although convinced that he did not love her.
"Mind? Why should I mind?"
"You know I thought once"--Clyde hesitated--"you see you were such great friends----"
"You thought I might be fond of him? Why, so I am. Not in that way, though. I might have been if he had tried to make love to me, but he never did. You see, Miss Burnaby----"
"I wish you"d call me Clyde."
"If you"ll call me Sheila. You see, Clyde, Casey and I are too much two of a kind. We"d never get on. You"ll idealize him; I"d call him down.
He"ll talk out of his heart to you; he"d talk irrigation, and crops, and horses to me. You"ll accept his judgment in most things as final; I"d want him to take my opinion instead of his own. Oh, we"d make an awful mess of it! And so, my dear, don"t you think that I"d want his love, even if I could get it. But at that he"s the whitest man I know, and the best friend I ever had. You"re lucky. I don"t wonder that he fell in love with you, either. I wish to goodness _I_ were as pretty."
"I"m glad," said Clyde, "that you haven"t said anything about money.
Thank you."
"It"s not because I didn"t think of it," Sheila admitted frankly. "But I know it makes no difference to Casey. Fact is, I wonder, knowing him as I do, that he hadn"t some absurd scruples on that point."
"He had. He says we can"t be married if he loses this ranch and the other lands."
"Nonsense," said Sheila practically. "He won"t stay with that if you coax him; he couldn"t."
Clyde laughed happily. "That"s the nicest compliment I ever had. You"re absolutely the first person I"ve told."
"Well, I"m much flattered," said Sheila. "When did it happen?"
"Last night."
"Everything happened last night. Was he--er--convincing in the part?"
But Clyde, laughing and blushing, refused details. Sheila wished to go home at once, but Clyde prevailed on her to wait for Casey. It was his wish.
"And that settles it from your point of view, of course," said Sheila.
"Well, I"ll wait."
Casey returned at noon. Clyde met him halfway between the stable and the house, bareheaded, the fresh wind fluttering her skirts and spinning little tendrils of coppery gold across her forehead. He would have taken both her hands, but she put them behind her, laughing.