Half an hour later Ophelia appeared dressed for the drive to Eagle Butte.  Carolyn June and Skinny went out on the front porch and watched the widow and Parker climb into the Clagstone “Six.”  As Parker started the engine Skinny suddenly called to him.  Parker sat with his foot on the clutch while Skinny hurried out to the car.

“What do you want?” he asked impatiently, “We’ve got to be going!”

“Lean over here,” Skinny said, his face flushing scarlet, “I want to tell you something.”

“Well?”

“Stop at the Golden Rule and get me a white shirt size number fifteen and—­a purple necktie if they’ve got any!” Skinny whispered.

Ophelia heard and choked back a laugh.

“Thunderation, he’s plumb locoed!” Parker exclaimed, as he jammed the clutch into gear and the car sprang forward.

“Don’t forget it, Parker,” Skinny called earnestly, “I actually need it!”

Carolyn June and Skinny stood on the porch and watched the car climb the grade and out on to the bench.  The storm of the night before had washed the earth clean and cooled the air.  A faint after-breeze fanned the tree-tops.  The Costejo peaks stood out, with stereoscopical clearness, against a cloudless sky.  The day was a challenge to one who loved the open.

“You may saddle ‘Old Blue,’” Carolyn June said to Skinny. “—­I’ll see if I can ‘stick on him’ long enough to ride as far as the river!”

“He’s already saddled,” Skinny replied, “him and Old Pie Face both.”

“Man, dear,” she cried in mock misunderstanding, “you surely are not expecting me to ride the two of them at once!”

“No,” he answered meekly, “Old Pie Face is my horse, I’m going to ride him and go with you.”

“Indeed!” she exclaimed, then laughing mischievously.  “Oh, certainly—­that’s a good one—­I hadn’t thought of it before!”

“Don’t you want me to go?” Skinny asked doubtfully.

“Surely.  I should be utterly unhappy if you didn’t—­I’ll get my hat.”

“Blamed if I can figure her out,” Skinny said to himself as Carolyn June ran lightly into the house.  “She keeps a feller freezing to death and burning up all at once—­sort of in heaven and hell both mixed together.”

A white, medium-brimmed felt hat was set jauntily on the fluffy brown hair when she reappeared.  Skinny’s heart leaped hungrily.  Carolyn June was a picture of perfect physical fitness.  The cowboy silently wondered how long he could keep from making “a complete, triple-expansion, darned fool of himself!”

“I’m glad you want me to go,” he said, renewing the conversation as they started around the house, “because I wanted to and, well, anyhow it’s my job—­”

“What do you mean ’your job’?” Carblyn June asked quickly.