Dicksie
McCloud intervened. “I hope you won’t go away without resting your horse. The sun is so hot. Mayn’t I offer you some sort of refreshment?”
Dicksie Dunning thought not.
“The sun is very warm,” persisted McCloud.
Dicksie smoothed her gauntlet in the assured manner natural to her. “I am pretty well used to it.”
But McCloud held on. “Several cars of fruit were destroyed in the wreck. I can offer you any quantity of grapes—crates of them are spoiling over there—and pears.”
“Thank you, I am just from luncheon.”
“And I have cooled water in the car. I hope you won’t refuse that, so far out in the desert.”
Dicksie laughed a little. “Do you call this far? I don’t; and I don’t call this desert by any means. Thank you ever so much for the water, but I’m not in the least thirsty.”
“It was kind of you even to think of extending help. I wish you would let me send some fruit over to your ranch. It is only spoiling here.”
Dicksie stroked the neck of her horse. “It is about eighteen miles to the ranch house.”
“I don’t call that far.”
“Oh, it isn’t,” she returned hastily, professing not to notice the look that went with the words,
29
