Her Prairie Knight by B. M. Bower (good summer reads TXT) 📖

“'Traveler, what lies over the hill?'” questioned a mischievous voice.

Keith, dreaming along a winding, rock-strewn trail in the canyon, looked up quickly and beheld his Heart's Desire sitting calmly upon her horse, ten feet before Redcloud's nose, watching him amusedly. Redcloud must have been dreaming also, or he would have whinnied warning and welcome, with the same breath.

“'Traveler, tell to me,'” she went on, seeing Keith only stared.

Keith, not to be outdone, searched his memory hurriedly for the reply which should rightly follow; secretly he was amazed at her sudden friendliness.

“'Child, there's a valley over there'—but it isn't 'pretty and wooded and shy'—not what you can notice. And there isn't any 'little town,' either, unless you go a long way. Why?” Keith rested his gloved hands, one above the other, on the saddle horn, and let his eyes riot with the love that was in him. He had not seen his Heart's Desire for a week. A week? It seemed a thousand years! And here she was before him, unusually gracious.

“Why? I discovered that hill two hours ago, it seems to me, and it wasn't more than a mile off. I want to see what lies on the other side. I feel sure no man ever stood upon the top and looked down. It is my hill—mine by the right of discovery. But I've been going, and going, and I think it's rather farther away, if anything, than it was before.”

“Good thing I met you'” Keith declared, and he looked as if he meant it. “You're probably lost, right now, and don't know it. Which way is home?”

Beatrice smiled a superior smile, and pointed.

“I thought so,” grinned Keith joyously. “You're pointing straight toward Claggett.”

“It doesn't matter,” said Beatrice, “since you know, and you're here. The important thing is to get to the top of that hill.”

“What for?” Keith questioned.

“Why, to be there!” Beatrice opened her big eyes at him. “That,” she declared whimsically, “is the top of the world, and it is mine. I found it. I want to go up there and look down.”

“It's an unmerciful climb,” Keith demurred hypocritically, to strengthen her resolution.

“All the better. I don't value what comes easily.”

“You won't see anything, except more hills.”

“I love hills—and more hills.”

“You're a long way from home, and it's after one o'clock.”

“I have a lunch with me, and I often stay out until dinner time.”

Keith gave a sigh that shook the saddle, making up, in volume, what it lacked in sincerity. The blood in him was a-jump at the prospect of leading his Heart's Desire up next the clouds—up where the world was yet young. A man in love is fond of self-torture.

“I have not said you must go.” Beatrice answered with the sigh.

“You don't have to,” he retorted. “It is a self evident fact. Who wants to go prowling around these hills by night, with a lantern that smokes an' has an evil smell, losing sleep and yowling like a bunch of coyotes, hunting a misguided young woman who thinks north is south, and can't point straight up?”

“You draw a flattering picture, Mr. Cameron.”

“It's realistic. Do you still insist upon getting up there, for the doubtful pleasure of looking down?” Secretly, he hoped so.

“Certainly.”

“Then I shall go with you.”

“You need not. I can go very well by myself, Mr. Cameron.”

Beatrice was something of a hypocrite herself.

“I shall go where duty points the way.”

“I hope it points toward home, then.”

“It doesn't, though. It takes the trail you take.”

“I never yet allowed my wishes to masquerade as Disagreeable Duty, with two big D's,” she told him tartly, and started off.

“Say! If you're going up that hill, this is the trail. You'll bump up against a straight cliff if you follow that path.”

Beatrice turned with seeming reluctance and allowed him to guide her, just as she had intended he should do.

“Dick tells me you have been away,” she began suavely.

“Yes. I've just got back from Fort Belknap,” he explained quietly, though he must have known his absence had been construed differently. “I've rented pasturage on the reservation for every hoof I own. Great grass over there—the whole prairie like a hay meadow, almost, and little streams everywhere.”

“You are very fortunate,” Beatrice remarked politely.

“Luck ought to come my way once in a while. I don't seem to get more than my share, though.”

“Dick will be glad to know you have a good range for your cattle, Mr. Cameron.”

“I expect he will. You may tell him, for me, that Jim Worthington—he's the agent over there, and was in college with us—says I can have my cattle there as long as he's running the place.”

“Why not tell him yourself?” Beatrice asked.

“I don't expect to be over to the Pool ranch for a while.” Keith's tone was significant, and Beatrice dropped the subject.

“Been fishing lately?” he asked easily, as though he had not left her that day in a miff. “No. Dorman is fickle, like all male creatures. Dick brought him two little brown puppies the other day, and now he can hardly be dragged from the woodshed to his meals. I believe he would eat and sleep with them if his auntie would allow him to.”

The trail narrowed there, and they were obliged to ride single file, which was not favorable to conversation. Thus far, Beatrice thought, she was a long way from winning her wager; but she did not worry—she looked up to where the hill towered above them, and smiled.

“We'll have to get off and lead our horses over this spur,”