' 'But I don't want to do all the loving," he insisted.
"Don't worry-you're not. Even the cook is writing poems about
me. Of all the foolish men I ever heard of Dad has certainly
succeeded in corraling the prize bunch."
"I don't care a hang about that red-headed old fool of a cook,"
he snapped. "What I want is for you to love me."
"Oh, well, that's a horse of another color. Now we will have to
change the subject."
"Please, Di, I'm in earnest," he pleaded; "won't you give me a
little to hope for?"
"You never can tell about a girl, Hal," she said.
Her voice was tender and her eyes suddenly soft, and that was as
near a promise as he could get.
As Bull urged Blazes up the rough trail of Cottonwood Canyon the
continued c***k of rifles kept the man apprised of the direction of
the
