"
"Milord's a good name," Dick contended. "It's bad enough to 'Sir' him to
his face; I can't do it behind his back, Trix. We're not used to fancy
titles out here, and they don't fit the country, anyhow. I'm like
you--I'd think a lot more of him if he was just a plain, everyday
American, so I could get acquainted enough to call him 'Red Hayes.' I'd
like him a whole lot better."
Beatrice was in no mood for an argument--on that subject, at least. She
let Rex out and raced over the prairie at a gait which would have
greatly shocked her mother, who could not understand why Beatrice was
not content to drive sedately about in the carriage with the rest of
them.
When they reached the round-up Keith Cameron left the bunch and rode out
to meet them, and Dick promptly shuffled responsibility for his sister's
entertainment to the square shoulders of his neighbor.
"Trix wants to wise up on the cattle business, Keith. I'll just turn her
over to you for a-while, and let you answer her questions; I can't, half
the time. I want to look through the bunch a little."
Keith's face spoke gratitude, and spoke it plainly. The face of
Beatrice was frankly inattentive. She was watching the restless, moving
mass of red backs and glistening horns, with horsemen weaving in and out
among them in what looked to her a perfectly aimless fashion--until one
would wheel and dart out into the open, always with a fleeing animal
lumbering before.
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