Billy observed to the girl, "with a haughty
spine."

"Oh, joy!" chuckled Billy when he lived those minutes over again, and
punched the pillow facetiously. "Oh, joy, oh Johnathan! I guess maybe
he didn't get a jolt, huh? And the way--the very _tone_ when I called
her Flora--sounded like the day was set for the wedding and we'd gone
and ordered the furniture!"

The mood of him was still triumphant three days after when he turned
in his saddle and waved his hand to Flora, who waved wistfully back at
him. "It ain't any cinch right now--but I'll have her yet," he cheered
himself when the twinge of parting was keenest.

CHAPTER XV.

_The Shadow Falls Lightly._

Over the green uplands, into the coulees and the brushy creek-bottoms
swept the sun-browned riders of the Double-Crank; jangling and
rattling over untrailed prairie sod, the bed and mess wagons followed
after with hasty camping at the places Billy appointed for brief
sleeping and briefer eating, a hastier repacking and then the hurry
over the prairies to the next stop. Here, a wide coulee lay yawning
languorously in the sunshine with a gossipy trout stream for company;
with meadowlarks rippling melodiously from bush and weed or hunting
worms and bugs for their nestful of gaping mouths; with gophers
trailing snakily through the tall grasses; and out in the barren
centre where the yellow earth was pimpled with little mounds,
plump-bodied prairie dogs sitting pertly upon their stubby tails the
while they chittered shrewishly at the world; and over all a lazy,
smiling sky with clouds always drifting and trailing shadows across
the prairie-dog towns and the coulee and the creek, and a soft wind
stirring the grasses.

Then the prairie dogs would stand a-tiptoe to listen. The meadowlarks
would stop their singing--even the trailing shadows would seem to
waver uncertainly--and only the creek would go gurgling on, uncaring.
Around a bend would rattle the wagons of the Double-Crank, with a lone
rider trotting before to point the way; down to the very bank of the
uncaring creek they would go. There would be hurrying to and fro with
much clamor of wood-chopping, tent-raising and all the little man-made
noises of camp life and cooking. There would be the added clamor
of the cavvy, and later, of tired riders galloping heavily into the
coulee, and of many voices upraised in full-toned talk with now and
then a burst of laughter.

All these things, and the prairie fol