The way the others had acted was a regular disgrace!
Chuck, Bert, Charley and Pedro were nervously happy. In the heart of each was a thrill, caused by the memory of some secret--or what he thought was a secret--manifestation of Carolyn June's interest. Perhaps it was no more than the brushing of a stray whiff of odorous brown hair against a weather-tanned cheek, the pulsing of a warm breath on the side of a muscular neck, a melting look from a pair of luminous eyes, some low-spoken word or the pressure of a hand, but whatever it was, each of the cowboys was reasonably certain he had been singled out for special favors. Charley was doubly blessed. In addition to Carolyn June's seductive advances he had the memory, also, of Ophelia's attentions. His mind was awhirl with the effort to figure out which one, by rights, he ought to consider as a permanent possibility.
Neither was sure of his standing with Ophelia although each had reason to believe that he was her favorite. Her interest in Charley added an unexpected and perplexing equation to their problem.
"Gosh," Chuck finally exclaimed, "that dance sure was some blow out!"
"I should say it was!" Bert agreed emphatically and with a satisfied grin. "But didn't that widow act funny for an 'anti-he' suffragette?"
Old Heck looked up, startled, as if he had been reminded of a disagreeable subject and one he wished to forget.
"Are you plumb positive that she is one, Parker?" Chuck asked.
"I told you what she was," Parker growled, "she's an 'Organizer' for some sort of 'Movement' or other."
"Well, I'll be blamed if her 'movements' to-night showed any 'anti-he' inclinations," Charley interrupted. "She carried on more like a female vampire than one of these advocaters of woman's rights!"
"Aw, shut up and go to bed," Old Heck grunted. "It's too late to start any argument!"
The moon crept across the heavens and was hanging above the shadowy peaks of the Costejo Mountains when the Ramblin' Kid returned to the sleeping Quarter Circle KT, slipped the saddle from the back of the Gold Dust maverick and turned the filly and Captain Jack into the circular corral.
He had ridden the outlaw mare almost to Eagle Butte.
She had learned her lesson. She knew, when he caressed her muzzle and pressed the last lump of sugar into her mouth, before he turned away to the bunk-house, that the Ramblin' Kid was not only her master but her friend as well--understanding and sympathetic. Never again would she doubt his will or resist the gentle yet firm strength of his hand. From that moment the Gold Dust maverick, like Captain Jack, was a one-man horse, ready to serve, to trust and obey only the Ramblin' Kid.