Whispering Smith
“Not at all; you can not go!” announced Dicksie. “I can protect both Mr. McCloud and myself. If he should arrive down there under the wing of two women he would never hear the last of it. I am mistress here still, I think; and I sha’n’t be leaving home, you know, to make the trip!”
McCloud looked at Marion. “I never worry over what can’t be helped—though it is dollars to cents that those fellows don’t need me down there any more than a cat needs two tails. And how will you get back?” he asked, turning to Dicksie.
“I will ride back!” returned Dicksie loftily. “But you may, if you like, help me get my horse up.”
“Are you sure you can find your way back?” persisted McCloud.
Dicksie looked at him in surprise. “Find my way back?” she echoed softly. “I could not lose it. I can ride over any part of this country at noon or at midnight, asleep or awake, with a saddle or without, with a bridle or without, with a trail or without. I’ve ridden every horse that has ever come on the Crawling Stone Ranch. I could ride when I was three years old. Find my way back?”
The messenger had gone when the two rode from the house. The sky was heavily overcast,
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