“Bet he’s got on that white shirt and having a high old time right now!  They’re probably in the front room and she’s playing La Paloma on the piano while Old Skinny’s setting back rolling his eyes up like a bloated yearling!” Chuck laughed.

“And Old Heck and Ophelia are out on the porch holding hands and looking affectionate while the mosquitos are chewing their necks and ankles!” Bert added with a snicker.

“Her and Old Heck’ll probably be married before we get back,” Chuck said solemnly, with a wink at the Ramblin’ Kid and a sly glance in the direction of Parker.

“Do you reckon there’s any danger of it?” Parker asked in a voice that showed anxiety, but not of the sort the cowboys thought.

“They’re darned near sure to,” Chuck replied seriously, heaving what he tried to make resemble a sigh of sympathy.

“What makes you think so?” Parker questioned, seeking confirmation from the lips of other, of a hope that had been rising in his heart since the first moment he had begun to regret his rash proposal of marriage to the widow.

“Well, for one thing”—­Chuck began soberly—­“the way they’d look at each other—­”

“I saw her squeeze Old Heck’s arm once!” Bert interrupted.

“Aw, she’s done that lots of times,” Chuck said airily; “that ain’t nothing special!  But the worst indication was them flowers she wore on her bosom every day—­Old Heck bought ’em!” he finished dramatically, leaning over and speaking tensely as though it pained him immeasurably to break the news to Parker while he fixed on Old Heck’s rival a look he imagined was one of supreme pity.

“Yeah, he had them sent up from Las Vegas,” Bert added, picking up the cue and lying glibly.  “I saw the express agent deliver a box of them to him one day.  There was four dollars and eighty cents charges on ’em!”

A gleam, which the cowboys misunderstood, came into Parker’s eyes.

“Why don’t you and Old Heck fight a duel about Ophelia?” Bert suggested tragically and in a voice that was aimed to convey sympathy to the Quarter Circle KT foreman.  “You could probably kill him!”

“Sure, that’s the way they do in books,” Chuck urged.

“Yes,” the Ramblin’ Kid broke in with a slow drawl, “fight one with sour-dough biscuits at a hundred yards!  That’d be sensible—­then both of you’d be genuine heroes!”

“Gosh, th’ Ramblin’ Kid’s awake!” Bert laughed.  “How does it happen you ain’t fell in love with Carolyn June?” he asked, turning toward the slender, dark-eyed, young cowboy.  “So far you’re the only one that’s escaped.  The rest of us are breaking our hearts—­”

For an instant the Ramblin’ Kid flashed on Bert a look of hot anger while a dull red glow spread over his sun-tanned cheeks.

“There’s enough damned fools loose on th’ Kiowa range without me bein’ one, too!” he retorted slowly, getting up and going toward Captain Jack.