"It will be soon. Three weeks from to-day."
"And at the ranch, I presume? My uncle will see to that, of course."
"Yes, it will be at the ranch."
"Good! I was wondering if anything would be doing here while I was
here." Craig threw one leg over the pommel of his saddle and adjusted
the knickerbockers comfortably. "By the way, how do you--your
people--celebrate an event of this kind? I admit I'm a bit ignorant on
the point."
"Celebrate? I don't think I understand." The Easterner glanced at his
companion suspiciously but the other man was still looking straight
ahead into the distance.
"You have a dance, or a barbecue or--or something of that sort, don't
you? It's to be an Indian wedding, is it not?"
Pat, pat went the horses' feet on the prairie sod. While one could count
ten slowly there was no other sound.
"No, there will be no dance or barbecue or anything out of the ordinary,
so far as I know," said a low voice then. "It will not be an Indian
wedding."
Craig hesitated. An instinct told him he had gone far enough. Lurking
indefinite in the depths of that last low-voiced answer was a warning, a
challenge to a trespasser; but something else, a thing which a lifetime
of indulgence had made almost an instinct, prevented his heeding. He was
not accustomed to being denied, this man; and there was no contesting
the obvious fact that now a confidence was being withheld. The latent
antagonism aroused with a bound at the thought.
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