They liked her, of course.  They would have fought for her if ever the need of fighting came, just as they would have fought for anything else in their outfit.  But they took her very calmly and as a matter of course, and were not inclined to that worshipful bearing which romancers would have us accept as the inevitable attitude of cowboys toward the daughter of the rancho.

Wherefore Johnny Jewel was not committing any heinous act of treason when he walked past Mary V with stiffened spine and head averted.  Johnny was mad at the whole outfit, and that included Mary V. Indeed, his anger particularly included Mary V. A young man who has finished high school and one year at a university, and who reads technical books rather than fiction and has ambitions for something much higher than his present calling,—­oh, very much higher!—­would naturally object to being called a witless wight.

Johnny objected.  He had cussed Aleck for repeating the epithet in the bunk house, and he had tried to lick Bud Norris, and had failed.  He blamed Mary V for his skinned knuckles and the cut on his lip, and for all his other troubles.  Johnny did not know about the coat, though he had it on; and if he had known, I doubt whether it would have softened his mood.  He was a terribly incensed young man.

Mary V had let her steps lag a little, knowing that Johnny must overtake her presently unless he turned short around and went the other way, which would not be like Johnny.  She had meant to say something that would lead the conversation gently toward the verses, and then she meant to say something else about the difficulty of making two lines rhyme, and the necessity of using perfectly idiotic words—­such as wight.  Mary V was disgusted with the boys for the way they had acted.  She meant to tell Johnny that she thought his verses were very clever, and that she, too, was keen for flying.  And would he like to borrow a late magazine she had in the house, that had an article about the growth of the “game”?  Mary V did not know that she would have sounded rather patronizing.  Her girl friends in Los Angeles had filled her head with romantic ideas about cowboys, especially her father’s cowboys.  They had taken it so for granted that the Rolling R boys must simply worship the ground she walked on, that Mary V had unconsciously come to believe that adoration was her birthright.

And then Johnny stepped out of the trail and passed her as though she had been a cactus or a rock that he must walk around!  Mary V went hot all over, with rage before her wits came back.  Johnny had not gone ten feet ahead of her when she was humming softly to herself a little, old-fashioned tune.  And the tune was “Auld Lang Syne.”

Johnny whirled in the trail and faced her, hard-eyed.

“You’re trying to play smart Aleck, too, are yuh?” he demanded.  “Why don’t yuh sing the words that’s in your mind?  Why don’t you try to sing your own ideas of poetry?  You know as much about writing poetry as I do about tatting!  ‘Worry’! ‘surrey’!  Or did you mean that it should be read ‘wawry,’ ’sorry’?”