"Good thing she has platinum crosshairs," he said to Ashton. "A fall like that would have been certain to break the old-style spiderweb hairs."
Ashton did not reply. He was absorbed in a murmured conversation with Isobel. Blake completed the adjustments of the level and stretched out beside his wife to play with his gurgling son. A half hour of this completed the two hours that he had set apart for the noon rest. He placed the baby back in his wife's lap and stood up to stretch his powerful frame.
"How about it, Ashton?" he inquired. "Think you feel fit to rod this afternoon? Don't hesitate to say no, if that's the right answer. I expect my wife and Miss Chuckie, between them, can help me carry the line as far as the camp."
"I can do it alone," interposed the girl. "Let them both stay here and rest all afternoon."
"No, Miss Chuckie. I can and shall do my work," insisted Ashton, springing up with unexpected briskness for one who had appeared so fatigued. "It is you and Mrs. Blake who must stay here to rest--unless you wish to keep us company."
"Might we not go to the new camp and put it in order?" suggested Genevieve.
"What if that outlaw should come sneaking back?" objected Ashton. "It seems to me you should keep with us."
"He would not trouble us," replied Isobel.
"Yet if he should? Anyway, Blake and I saw a wolf up here the other day."
"Yes," answered Blake. "Over in the ravine the other side of the head of Dry Fork Gulch."
The girl laughed. "You're still a tenderfoot to think a wolf wouldn't know better than that. Wish he didn't! It would mean the saving of a half dozen calves this winter." She flashed out her long-barreled automatic pistol and knocked a cone from the tree above Blake's head with a swiftly aimed shot.
Blake caught the cone as it fell and looked at the bullet hole through its center. "Unless that was an accident, I should call it some shooting," he remarked.
"Accident!" she called back. "Stand sideways and see what happens to your cigar."
"No, thanks. I'll take your word for it. Just lit this one, and I've only a few left. By by, Tommy! Don't let the wolves eat mamma and the poor little cowlady!"
He picked up the level and started off at a swinging stride. Ashton followed several paces behind. His face was sullen and heavy, but in their merriment over Blake's banter, the ladies failed to observe his expression.