“I just hate Montana!” she burst out, vehemently, blinking back some tears. “I don’t care if Cecil did just come day before yesterday—I shall pack up and go back home. She can stay if she wants to, but I won’t live here another day. I hate Chip Bennett, too, and I’ll tell him so if I ever get home. I don’t see what J. G.’s thinking of, to live in such a God-forgotten hole, where there’s nothing but miles upon miles of cactuses—” The downfall of Eastern upbringing! To deliberately say “cactuses”—but the provocation was great, I admit. If any man doubts, let him tread thin-shod upon a healthy little “pincushion” and be convinced. I think he will confess that “cactuses” is an exceedingly conservative epithet, and all too mild for the occasion.
Half an hour later, Chip, leading Concho by the bridle rein, rode over the brow of a hill and came suddenly upon the Little Doctor, sitting disconsolately upon a rock. She had one shoe off, and was striving petulantly to extract a cactus thorn from the leather with a hat pin. Chip rode close and stopped, regarding her with satisfaction from the saddle. It was the first time he had succeeded in finding the Little Doctor alone since the arrival of Dr. Cecil Granthum—God bless her!
“Hello! What you trying to do?”
No answer. The Little Doctor refused even to lift her lashes, which were wet and clung together in little groups of two or three. Chip also observed that there were suggestive streaks upon her cheeks—and not a sign of a dimple anywhere. He lifted one leg over the horn of the saddle to ease his ankle, which still pained him a little after a ride, and watched her a moment.
“What’s the matter, Doctor? Step on a cactus?”
“Oh, no,” snapped the Doctor in a tone to take one’s head off, “I didn’t step on a cactus—I just walked all over acres and acres of them!”
There was a suspicious gurgle from somewhere. The Little Doctor looked up.
“Don’t hesitate to laugh, Mr. Bennett, if you happen to feel that way!”
Mr. Bennett evidently felt that way. He rocked in the saddle, and shouted with laughter. The Little Doctor stood this for as much as a minute.
“Oh, no doubt it’s very funny to set me afoot away off from everywhere—” Her voice quivered and broke from self-pity; her head bent lower over her shoe.
Chip made haste to stifle his mirth, in fear that she was going to cry. He couldn’t have endured that. He reached for his tobacco and began to make a cigarette.
“I didn’t set you afoot,” he said. “That was a bad break you made yourself. Why didn’t you do as I told you—hang to the bridle and fight Denver off with your whip? You had one.”
“Yes—and let him gnaw me!”
Chip gurgled again, and drew the tobacco sack shut with his teeth. “He wouldn’t ‘gnaw’ you—he wouldn’t have come near you. He’s whip trained. And I’d have been there myself in another minute.”
“I didn’t want you there! And I don’t pretend to be a horse-trainer, Mr. Bennett. There’s several things about your old ranch life that I don’t know—and don’t want to know! I’m going back to Ohio tomorrow, so there!”
“Yes?” He drew a match sharply along his stamped saddle-skirt and applied it to the cigarette, pinched out the blaze with extreme care, and tossed the match-end facetiously against Concho’s nose. He did not seem particularly alarmed at her threat—or, perhaps, he did not care. The Little Doctor prodded savagely at her shoe, too angry to see the thorn, and Chip drove another nail into his coffin with apparent relish, and watched her. After a little, he slid to the ground and limped over to her.
“Here, give me that shoe; you’ll have it all picked to pieces and not get the thorn, either. Where is it?”
“It?” sniffed the Little Doctor, surrendering the shoe with hypocritical reluctance. “It? There’s a dozen, at the very least!”
Chip emptied his lungs of smoke, and turned the shoe in his hands.
“Oh, I guess not—there isn’t room in this little bit of leather for a dozen. Two would be crowded.”
“I detest flattery above all things!” But, being a woman, the brow of the Little Doctor cleared perceptibly.
“Yes? You’re just like me in that respect. I love the truth.”
Thinking of Dr. Cecil, the Little Doctor grew guiltily red. But she had never said Cecil was a man, she reflected, with what comfort she could. The boys, like Dunk, had simply made the mistake of taking too much for granted.
Chip opened the smallest blade of his knife deliberately, sat down upon a neighboring rock and finished his cigarette, still turning the shoe reflectively—and caressingly—in his hand.
“I’d smile to see the Countess try to put that shoe on,” he remarked, holding the cigarette in some mysterious manner on his lip. “I’ll bet she couldn’t get one toe in it.”
“I don’t see that it matters, whether she could or not,” snapped the Little Doctor. “For goodness sake, hurry!”
“You’re pretty mad, aren’t you?” inquired he, shoving his hat back off his forehead, and looking at her as though he enjoyed doing so.
“Do I look mad?” asked she, tartly.
“I’d tell a man you do!”
“Well—my appearance doesn’t half express the state of my mind!”
“Your mind must be in an awful state.”
“It is.”
Two minutes passed silently.
“Dr. Cecil’s bread is done—she gave me a slice as big as your hat, with butter and jelly on it. It was out of sight.”
The Little Doctor groaned, and rallied.
“Butter and jelly on my hat, did you say?”
“Not on your hat—on the bread. I ate it coming back down the coulee— and I sure had my hands full, leading Concho, too.”
The Little Doctor held back the question trembling on her hungry, parched lips as long as she could, but it would come.
“Was it good?”
“I’d tell a man!” said Chip, briefly and eloquently.
The Little Doctor sighed.
“Dr. Cecil Granthum’s a mighty good fellow—I’m stuck on him, myself— and if I haven’t got the symptoms sized up wrong, the Old Man’s going to be.”
“That’s all the good it will do him. Cecil and I are going somewhere and practice medicine together—and we aren’t either of us going to get married, ever!”
“Have you got the papers for that?” grinned Chip, utterly unmoved.
“I have my license,” said the Little Doctor, coldly.
“You’re ahead of me there, for I haven’t—yet. I can soon get one, though.”
“I wish to goodness you’d hurry up with that shoe! I’m half starved.”
“Well, show me a dimple and you can have it. My, you are cranky!”
The Little Doctor showed him two, and Chip laid the shoe in her lap— after he had surprised himself, and the doctor, by planting a daring little kiss upon the toe.
“The idea!” exclaimed she, with a feeble show of indignation, and slipped her foot hurriedly into its orthodox covering. Feeling his inscrutable, hazel eyes upon her, she blushed uncomfortably and fumbled the laces.
“You better let me lace that shoe—you won’t have it done in a thousand