Bareheaded she and Skinny strolled out the front gate and along the road that led up to the bench.  At the top of the grade they sat down, side by side, on a large boulder that hung on the brink of the bench.  The Quarter Circle KT lay before them—­restful and calm in the shadows of early evening.  The poplars along the front-yard fence stood limp in the silent air.  Across the valley the sand-hills were mellowing with the coming softness of twilight.  Up the river, to the west, beyond Eagle Butte, a summer thunder-cloud was climbing higher and higher into the sky.  In the direction of Dry Buck, far toward the northwest, a fog of dust was creeping along the horizon, gradually approaching the upland pasture.  Skinny saw it.

“By golly,” he cried, “that’s either Parker and the boys coming in with the cattle—­or else it’s a band of sheep!  It surely can’t be ’woollys’—­they never get over in there!  If it’s our outfit, though, they’ve got through quicker than they figured!”

A few moments later the dim bulk of the “grub-wagon” appeared, miles away, slowly crawling toward the Quarter Circle KT.

For a time Skinny and Carolyn June were silent.

Skinny’s hand crept slyly across the rock and found the pink fingers of Carolyn June.  She did not draw away.

“Carolyn June,” he whispered haltingly, “Carolyn June—­I—­Old Heck and Ophelia have got married—­let’s you and—­and—­”

“Please, Skinny, don’t say it!” she interrupted, her voice trembling.  “I—­I know what you mean!  It hurts me.  Listen, Skinny”—­she hurried on, determined to end it quickly—­“maybe you will despise me, but—­I like you, truly I do—­but not that way!  I don’t want to grieve you—­I wish us to be just good friends—­that’s why I’m telling you!  Let’s be friends, Skinny—­just friends—­we can’t be any more than that—­”

Skinny understood.  A dull, throbbing pain tightened about his throat.  His fingers gripped Carolyn June’s hand an instant and then relaxed.  The whole world seemed suddenly blank.

“Can’t you—­won’t you—­ever—­ca—­care?” he asked in a voice filled with despair.

“I do care, boy,” she replied softly, “I do care—­but not that way!  Oh, Skinny,” she exclaimed, wishing to make it as easy as possible for the sentimental cowboy at her side, “maybe I have done wrong to let you go ahead, but, well, I found out—­I guessed the ’arrangements’—­how you had been chosen to make ‘love’ to me and how Parker and Uncle Josiah were to divide Ophelia between them.  Perhaps that is why I have flirted so—­just to punish you all!  Truly, Skinny, I’m sorry.  Please don’t hate me like—­like—­the Ramblin’ Kid does!” she finished with a shaky little laugh.

“He—­don’t hate you,” Skinny answered dully, “at least I don’t think th’ Ramblin’ Kid hates you—­or anybody.  And you knowed all the time that I was getting paid to make love to you?  Well, I was,” he added chokingly, “but I’d have done it for nothing if I’d had the chance!”