he needs attention," Genevieve sought to
defend her infant.

"Yes, ma'am. It's a good thing he knows that much already. You have to
make yourself heard to get what you want in the world generally, as
well as in hostleries and eating-houses."

Blake buckled on the cartridge belt, with its holstered revolver, and
went to help saddle the ponies. Ashton watched him and Isobel
narrowly. He was far from pleased with the familiarity of their talk
and manner towards one another. Twice the girl put her hand on Blake's
arm.

In marked contrast to this affectionate intimacy, Isobel was distrait
and hurried when she came to take leave of the wounded man. He had
risen to his feet, and she could not ignore his proffered hand. But
she avoided his gaze and quickly withdrew her fingers from his warm
clasp to hurry off.

CHAPTER XXI

MADONNA DOLOROSA

Blake was cooking supper when, shortly before sunset, Gowan drove up
to the waterhole, with a pony in lead behind the heavy wagon. Leaving
the wagon with the rope and other articles of his load on the far side
of the creek bed, he watered and picketed the horses, and came across
to the tent with his rifle and a roll of blankets.

"Howdy, Mr. Blake. Got here in time for supper, I see," he remarked as
he unburdened himself. "Met Mr. Knowles and the ladies down near the
ranch. They told me about the shooting." He faced about to stare at
Ashton's bandaged head. "They told me you came mighty near getting
yours. You shore are a lucky tenderfoot."

Ashton shrugged superciliously. "The worst of it is the additional
hole in my hat. I see you have a new one. Is that the latest style on
the range?"

"Stetson, brand A-1.," replied the puncher. "How does it strike you,
Mr. Blake?--and my new shirt? Having a dude puncher on our range kind
of stirred up my emulosity. They don't have real cowboy attire like
his at an ordinary shorthorn cow town like Stockchute--but I did the
best I could."

Blake made no response to this heavy badinage. He set the supper on
the chuck-box, and laconically said: "Come and get it."

"Might have known you've been on round-up," remarked Gowan, with an
insistent sociability oddly at variance with his usual taciturn
reserve. "According to Miss Chuckie, you're some rider, and according
to Mr. Knowles, you can shoot. I wouldn't mind hearing from you direct
about that shooting this morning."

Blake recounted the affair still more briefly than he had told it