Her Prairie Knight, Lonesome Land & The Uphill Climb: Complete Western Trilogy. B. M. Bower

I fell in love with a picture of you, that you sent him—that one taken in your graduation gown—and I told Dick I was going to take the next train East, and carry you off by force, if I couldn’t get you any other way. But Dick thought I’d stand a better show to wait till he’d coaxed you out here. We had it all fixed, that you’d come and find a prairie knight that was ready to fight for you, and he’d make you like him, whether you wanted to or not; and then he’d keep you here, and we’d all be happy ever after. And Dick would pull out of the Northern Pool—and of course you would—and we’d have a company of our own. Oh! we had some great castles built out here on the prairie, let me tell you! And then, when you finally came here, you had milord tagging along—and you thinking you were in love with him! Maybe you think I wasn’t shaky, girlie! The air castles got awfully wobbly, and it looked like they were going to cave in on us. But I was bound to stay in the game if I could, and Dick did all he could to get you to looking my way—and it’s all right, isn’t it, Trixie?” Keith kept recurring to the ecstatic realization that it was all right.

      Beatrice meditated for a minute.

      “I never dreamed—Dick never even mentioned you in any of his letters,” she said, in a rather dazed tone. “And when I came he made me believe you were a horrible flirt, and I never can resist the temptation to measure lances.”

      “And take a fall out of a male flirt,” Keith supplemented. “Dick,” he went on sententiously and slangily, “was dead onto his job.” After that he helped her into the saddle, and they rode blissfully homeward.

      Near the ranch they met Dick, who pulled up and eyed them anxiously at first, and then with a broad smile.

      “Say, Trix,” he queried slyly, “who does Rex belong to?”

      Keith came to the rescue promptly, just as a brave knight should. “You,” he retorted. “But I tell you right now, he won’t very long. You’re going to do the decent thing and give him to Trixie—for a wedding present.”

      Dick looked as though Trix was welcome to any thing he possessed.

Chapter 14. Sir Redmond Gets His answer

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      “Before long, dear, we shall get on the great ship, and ride across the large, large ocean, and be at home. You will be delighted to see Peggy, and Rupert, and the dogs, won’t you, dear?” Miss Hayes, her cheeks actually getting some color into them at the thought of going home, buttered a fluffy biscuit for her idol.

      Dorman took two bites while he considered. “Rupert’ll want my little wheels, for my feet, what Mr. Cam’ron gave me—but he can’t have ‘em, dough. I ‘spect he’ll be mad. I wonder what’ll Peggy say bout my two puppies. I’ve got to take my two puppies wis me. Will dey get sick riding on de water, auntie? Say, will dey?”

      “I—I think not, dear,” ventured his auntie cautiously. His auntie was a conscientious woman, and she knew very little about puppies.

      “Be’trice will help me take care of dem if dey’re sick,” he remarked comfortably.

      Then something in his divinity’s face startled his assurance. “You’s going wis us, isn’t you, Be’trice? I want you to help take care of my two puppies. Martha can’t, ‘cause she slaps dere ears. Is you going wis us, Be’trice?”

      This, at the dinner table, was, to say the least, embarrassing—especially on this especial evening, when Beatrice was trying to muster courage to give Sir Redmond the only answer it was possible to give him now. It was an open secret that, in case she had accepted him, the home-going of Miss Hayes would be delayed a bit, when they would all go together. Beatrice had overheard her mother and Miss Hayes discussing this possibility only the day before. She undertook the impossible, and attempted to head Dorman off.

      “Perhaps you’ll see a whale, honey. The puppies never saw a whale, I’m sure. What do you suppose they’d think?”

      “Is you going?”

      “You’d have to hold them up high, you know, so they could see, and show them just where to look, and—”

      “Is you going, Be’trice?”

      Beatrice sent a quick, despairing glance around the table. Four pairs of eyes were fixed upon her with varying degrees of interest and anxiety. The fifth pair—Dick’s—were trying to hide their unrighteous glee by glaring down at the chicken wing on his plate. Beatrice felt a strong impulse to throw something at him. She gulped and faced the inevitable. It must come some time, she thought, and it might as well be now—though it did seem a pity to spoil a good dinner for every one but Dick, who was eating his with relish.

      “No, honey”—her voice was clear and had the note of finality—“I’m not going—ever.”

      Sir Redmond’s teeth went together with a click, and he picked up the pepper shaker mechanically and peppered his salad until it was perfectly black, and Beatrice wondered how he ever expected to eat it. Mrs. Lansell dropped her fork on the floor, and had to have a clean one brought. Miss Hayes sent a frightened glance at her brother. Dick sat and ate fried chicken.

      “Why, Be’trice? I wants you to—and de puppies’ll need you—and auntie, and—” Dorman gathered himself for the last, crushing argument—“and Uncle Redmon’ wants you awf’lly!”

      Beatrice took a sip of ice water, for she needed it.

      “Why, Be’trice? Gran-mama’ll let you go, guess. Can’t she go, gran’mama?”

      It was Mrs. Lansell’s turn to test the exquisite torture of that prickly chill along the spine. Like Beatrice, she dodged.

      “Little boys,” she announced weakly, “should not speak until they’re spoken to.”

      Dick came near strangling on a shred of chicken.

      “Can’t she go, gran’mama? Say, can’t she? Tell Be’trice to go home wis us, gran’mama!”

      “Beatrice”—Mrs. Lansell swallowed—“is not a little child any longer, Dorman. She is a woman and can do as she likes. I”—she was speaking to the whole group—“I can only advise her.”

      Dorman gave a squeal of triumph. “See? You can go, Be’trice! Gran’mama says you can go. You will go, won’t you, Be’trice? Say yes!”

      “No!” said Beatrice, with desperate emphasis. “I won’t.”

      “I want—Be’trice—to go-o!” Dorman slid down upon his shoulder blades, gave a squeal which was not triumph, but temper, and kicked the table till every dish on it danced.

      “Dorman sit up!” commanded his auntie. “Dorman, stop, this instant! I’m ashamed of you; where is my good little man? Redmond.”

      Sir Redmond seemed glad of the chance to do something besides sit quietly in his place and look calm. He got up deliberately, and in two minutes, or less, Dorman was in the woodshed with him, making sounds that frightened his puppies dreadfully and put the coyotes to shame.

      Beatrice left the table hurriedly to escape the angry eyes of her mother. The sounds in the woodshed had died to a subdued sniffling, and she retreated to the front porch, hoping to escape observation. There she nearly ran against Sir Redmond, who was staring off into the dusk to where the moon was peering redly over a black pinnacle of the Bear Paws.

      She would have slipped back into the house, but he did not give her the chance. He turned and faced her steadily, as he had more than once faced the Boers, when he knew that before him was nothing but defeat.

      “So you’re not going to England ever?”

      Pride had squeezed every shade of emotion from his voice.

      “No.” Beatrice gripped her fingers together tightly.

      “Are