This time the door closed behind him, and, alone within the room, the girl sobbed as though her heart would break.

CHAPTER IX

A RIFFLE OF PRAIRIE

Florence got her dogs promptly.  They were two big mouse-colored grayhounds, with tails like rats and protruding ribs.  They were named “Racer” and “Pacer,” and were warranted by their late owner to out-distance any rabbit that ever drew breath.  The girl felt that an event as important as a coursing should be the occasion of a gathering of the neighboring ranchers; but at the mere suggestion her conventional mother threw up her hands in horror.  It was bad enough for her daughter to go out alone, but as the one woman among all that lot of cowboys—­it was too much for her to endure.  Finally, as a compromise, Florence agreed to invite only the people of the Box R Ranch to the first event.  So the invitations for a certain day, composed with fitting formality, were sent, and in due time were ceremoniously accepted.

The chase was scheduled to begin soon after daybreak, and before that time Rankin and Ben Blair were at the Baker house.  They wore their ordinary clothes of wool and leather, but Scotty appeared in a wonderful red hunting-coat, which, though a bit moth-eaten in spots, nevertheless showed glaringly against the brown earth of the ranch-house yard.

With the exception of the dogs, which were kept properly hungry for the hunt, and Mollie, who had washed her hands of the whole affair, the party all had breakfast, Scotty himself serving the coffee with the skill of a head-waiter.  Then the old buckboard, carefully oiled and tightened for the occasion, was gotten out, a team of the fastest, wiriest mustangs the Box R possessed was attached, and Rankin and Baker upon the seat, Florence and Ben, well-mounted, trailing behind, the party sallied forth.  In order to avoid fences they had agreed to go ten miles to the south before beginning operations.  There a great tract of government land, well grazed but untouched by the hand of man, gave all but unlimited room.

The morning was beautiful and clear beyond the comprehension of city dwellers, a typical day of prairie Dakota in late Fall.  Far out over the broad expanse, indefinite as to distance, the rising sun seemed resting upon the very rim of the world.  All about, near at hand, stretching into the horizon, glistening, sparkling, innumerable frost crystals, product of the past night, gleamed like scattered gems, showing in their coloring every blended shade of the rainbow.  The glory of it all appealed to the girl, and throwing back her head she drew in deep breaths of the tonic air.

“I’m going to miss these mornings terribly when I’m gone,” she said soberly.

Ben Blair scrutinized the backs of the two men in the buckboard with apparent interest.

“I didn’t know you intended leaving,” he said.  “Where are you going?”