Horse Heaven Hill. Zane Grey

Lark, with a blush. “I haven’t. Cross my heart.”

      “Aren’t there any cowboys in Idaho?”

      “Yes, more than in Washington, I’d say. But none near my ranch. I met cowboys at the dances. I don’t think much of cowboys. Last time there was a fight over me. So they said. I didn’t see how it could be. But I avoided them after that.”

      “So you don’t think much of cowboys,” replied Marigold thoughtfully, with a speculative eye upon her cousin. “Neither do I. They’re a conceited bunch. Stan doesn’t like it when I look at one.”

      “Who’s Stan?”

      “Oh, he’s my fiancé,” said Marigold indifferently. “We’ve been engaged ever since I was sixteen. Before he went to college . . . Family affair. Well, Lark, my dear, let’s make that list of what you need.”

CHAPTER TWO

      At noon the next day they arrived in the dusty town, which boasted a large merchandise store, several saloons, and a hotel and small restaurant. Lark was intrigued and delighted with the variety of materials and goods the store had to offer. Much more than she had ever seen before.

      While they were examining and debating about the various colors and varieties of goods, Lark noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a masculine form emerge from the aisle.

      “Here you are. I had a hard time finding you,” someone said in a pleasant deep voice.

      “Hello, Stan, I’m glad you rode over,” replied Marigold. “Lark, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Stanley Weston. Stan, my cousin, Lark Burrell, from Idaho. She has come to live with us.”

      “Miss Burrell, I’m happy to know you,” replied Weston, with a slight bow.

      “I’m happy to meet you, sir,” Lark said shyly, gazing into serious dark eyes.

      “Marigold, I have to see to my horse, but I’ll meet you later and accompany you home,” said Weston, turning to Marigold.

      “That will be fine. We’ll be ready at four.”

      Weston bowed again, and strode out.

      A little before four, they were loading their purchases in the buckboard, with the help of the clerk, when Lark saw Marigold’s fiancé. As he stepped out to meet the buckboard, lifting his hat, Lark sustained an unaccountable thrill. In the sunlight, bareheaded, he looked singularly pleasing. He was broad of shoulder and well above medium height.

      He laughed. “Mari, you’re on time for once.”

      “I don’t want Dad to have reason to be angry. Look at all we’ve bought. Let’s go,” she said, gathering the reins as she stepped up into the buckboard.

      The trip back was rapid—the horses were rested and anxious to get home. Marigold occupied herself with driving, while Weston questioned Lark about her life in Idaho. Lark found herself responding to his warm friendliness with ease, and was sorry when they arrived at the ranch.

      That night dinner at the Wades’ was another ordeal for Lark, though not so bad as that of the day before. Marigold was in high spirits, which Mr. Wade remarked was easy to understand. He was in good humor and asked Lark teasing questions. Ellery, who sat next to Lark, annoyed her by trying to get hold of her hand. But it was the thought of Stanley which made the dinner much too long for the girl.

      After dinner the goods, both Lark’s and Marigold’s, had to be shown for Mrs. Wade’s edification. She was as pleased as the girls. Indeed, Marigold had a faithful ally in her mother.

      “But, dear, it seems such useless extravagance—I mean your purchases—when you will be getting married soon, surely this fall,” remarked her mother.

      Marigold flushed red, and It was evident to Lark that she saw red too. “Mother, I’ve told you I don’t want to get married soon,” she retorted.

      “You should. You’re twenty-two.”

      “Suppose I am? That’s not old—it’s young. I don’t want to settle down and have children and be old before I know it. I’m having a good time. Besides, Stan wants me to live in that old ranch house of his, with his old father. I want to live in town. We’ve argued about it often. I wish you’d let me alone. It just upsets me. I’ll do as I please, anyhow.”

      “So we have observed,” retorted Mrs. Wade, with resignation. “But Marigold, you should realize things as they are. We are not rich, by any means. Your father has sold out. That money, most of it, must go to pay debts and put his store in better shape to meet competition. Now Stanley Weston is, or will be, a wealthy man. Take care you don’t play around so long that you’ll lose him.”

      “Oh!” cried Marigold, furiously, as her mother left the room. “Lark, I sure have trouble with my parents. You don’t know when you’re well off. Dad isn’t so bad, except when he’s worried about money. But Mother makes me sick. If she isn’t nagging me for riding or dancing, she’s nagging me to marry Stan.”

      “Marigold, it’s only that she’s so anxious to see you settled for life,” replied Lark sympathetically.

      “That’s right! That’s just it,” replied the girl passionately. “Well, I’m not ready to be settled.”

      “I should think you’d be eager—to marry Mr. Weston,” ventured Lark.

      “Oh, I like Stan well enough. But we never get along. He doesn’t approve of me, Lark.”

      “He seemed very nice. Of course, I don’t know any young men.”

      “Your good fortune is about at an end,” retorted Marigold sarcastically. “There’ll be a flock of them after you presently, including El. Mother will be keen to marry you to one—not El, but the one who has the best prospects.”

      “Me! Marry? Oh, how funny!” exclaimed Lark, half in mirth and half in consternation.

      “It is funny, to see it our way. But look at it with their eyes. The old women are always matchmaking. You’re a female, young, healthy, pretty, and poor as a church mouse. They’d have you baking, sewing, scrubbing—and nursing kids for some man.”

      “That last is fearful to think of,” agreed Lark, laughing in spite of her shocked sensibilities. “At least for you. But it seems sort of—out of the question for me.”

      “Ha ha! You’ll see.”

      A deep pleasant voice called up the stairs: “Mari, I’d like to see you a minute before I leave.”

      “I’ll come down, Stan,” called Marigold in reply, as she rose, and smoothed her skirt and left the room.

      Presently another voice made itself heard. “Sis, where’s Lark?”

      “She’s in her room. And she’s tired. It’s been some day for her,” Lark heard Marigold reply.

      “Hey, Lark,” Ellery called, still louder.

      “Yes, what is it?” rejoined Lark, going to the door somewhat perturbed. But she might as well meet this situation.

      “Come to the head of the stairs.”

      Lark went, and, leaning over the rail, saw the young man looking up.

      “Let’s go for a ride,” he proposed eagerly.

      “Ride! I’ve had enough rides—for today.”

      “Let’s go out and walk then.”

      Lark wanted to walk outdoors, but there was no temptation in going with Ellery. She did not care to go with him, anywhere.

      “Thanks, Mr. Wade, but I’m tired.”

      “Say, don’t be so formal. Call me El. . . . Well, what do you know about that?”

      Lark