The Rice belt journal. (Welsh, Calcasieu Parish, La.) 1900-19??, 1908-03-13
CHAPTER II.
"On the TraiI.1

Williston himself came to the door.
His thin, scholarly face looked drawn
and worn in the midday glare. A
tiredness in the eyes told graphically
of a sleepless night.
I'm glad to see you, Langford," he
said. ut was good of you to come.
Leave your horse for Mary. She'll
give her water when she's cooled off
a bit"
"You sent for me, Williston?" asked
the young man, rubbing his face affec-
tionately against the wet neck of his
mare.
81 did. 1t was good of you to come
to SOON"
Fortunately your messenger found
me at home. AS for the rest, SADIE,
here, hasn't her beat in the COW
country, if she is only COW pony, eh,
Sadie?"
At that moment Mary Willston
came into the open doorway of the
rude claim shanty set down in the
very heart of the sun-seared plain
which stretched away into heart-chok-
ing distances from every possible
point of the compass. And sweet
she was to look upon, though tanned
and glowing from close association
with the ardent sun and riotous wind.
Her auburn hair, more reddish on the
endges from sunburn, was fine and
soft and there was much of it. It
seemed newly brushed and suspicious
ly glossy. One sees far on the plains,
and two years out of civilization are
not enough to make girl forget the
use of a mirror, even if it be but
broken silver, propped up on a pine
board dressing table. She looked
strangely grown-up despite her short,
rough skirt and badly scuffed leather
riding leggings. LangfOrd stared at
her with a startled look Of mingled
admiration and establishment. She
came forward and put her hand on
the mares bride. She was not en-
barrassed In the least. But the color
came into the strangers face. He
swept his wide hat from his head
quickly.
mo indeed, Miss Williston; I'll
water Sade myself"
please let me. I'd love to-,
"She's used to it, Langford," said
| Wllliston in his quiet, gentlemanly
voice, the well-bred cadence of which
spoke of training far removed from
the harassments and harshnesses of
life in this plains country, you see,
she is the only boy have. She must
Of necessity be my chore boy as we'll
as my herd boy. In her leisure mo-
ments she holds down her kitchen
claim; | don't know how she does it,
but she does. You had better let her
do it; she will hold it against you if
you don't"
But / couldn't have a woman do
ing my grooming for me. Why, the
very ideal"
He sprang into the saddle.
"But you waited for me to do it,"
said the girl, looking up at him Gu
riously.
Did 1? I didn't mean to- Yes,
did, too. But beg your pardon. You
| cno-cov loply hnra. oro vo,, +bo G;t+lo
girl who left word for me this morn
ing?"
Yes. Why not?"
"Well, you see," smiling, but apollo
getic, zone of the boys said that Will
listons little girl had ridden over and
said her father wanted to see me as
soon as l could come. SO, you see,
thought"
Dad always calls me that, so most
Of the people around here do, too. II
is very silly"
Il don't think so at all. only
wonder why have not known about
you before" with frank smile. ut
must be because Eve been away SO
much Of the time lately. Why didn't
you wait for me?" he asked suddenly
Ten miles is a sort Of a lonesome
run-for a girl"
II did wait while" said Mary
honestly, "but you didn't seem in any
hurry. expect you didn't care to be
bored that long way with the silly
chatter Of little girl"
'Well," said Langford, ruefully, I'm
afraid / did feel little relieved when
I found you had not waited. | never
will again. l do beg your pardon" he
called, laughingly, over his shoulder
as he galloped away to the spring.
When he returned there was no one
to receive him but Williston. To
gsther they entered the house. 1t wal