"What is the joke?" she demanded.

"Nothin'; only my plate is empty, Miss Bronson."

Bronson grabbed up carving-knife and fork. "Great Caesar! I must have been dreaming. I _was_ dreaming. I was recalling a turkey hunt down in Virginia with Colonel Stillwell and his man Plato. Plato was a good caller--but we didn't get a turkey. Now, this is as tender as--as it ought to be. A little more gravy? And as we came home, the colonel, who was of the real mint-julep type, proposed as a joke that Plato see what he could do toward getting some kind of bird for dinner that night. And when Plato lifted the covers, sure enough there was a fine, fat roast chicken. The colonel, who lived in town and did not keep chickens, asked Plato how much he had paid for it. Plato almost dropped the cover.

'Mars' George,' he said with real solicitude in his voice,' is you sick?' And speaking of turkeys--"

"Who was speaking of turkeys?" asked Dorothy.

"Why, I think this chicken is superior to any domestic turkey I ever tasted," concluded Bronson.

"Was you ever in politics?" queried Lorry. And they all laughed heartily.

After dinner Lorry asked for an ap.r.o.n.

Dorothy shook her finger at him. "It's nice of you--but you don't mean it."

"Now, ma wouldn't 'a' said that, miss. She'd 'a' just tied one of her ap.r.o.ns on me and turned me loose on the dishes. I used to help her like that when I was a kid. Ma runs the hotel at Stacey."

"Why, didn't we stop there for dinner?" asked Dorothy.

"Yes, indeed. All right, Adams, I'll wash 'em and you can dry 'em, and Dorothy can rest."

"It's a right smilin' little ap.r.o.n," commented Lorry as Dorothy handed it to him.

"And you do look funny! My, I didn't know you were so big! I'll have to get a pin."

"I reckon it's the ap.r.o.n looks funny," said Lorry.

"I made it," she said, teasing him.

"Then that's why it is so pretty," said Lorry gravely.

Dorothy decided to change the subject. "I think you should let me wash the dishes, father."

"You cooked the dinner, Peter Pan."

"Then I'll go over and try the piano. May I?"

"If you'll play for us when we come over, Miss Bronson."

Bronson and Lorry sat on the veranda and smoked. Dorothy was playing a sprightly melody. She ceased to play, and presently the sweet old tune "Annie Laurie" came to them. Lorry, with cigarette poised in his fingers, hummed the words to himself. Bronson was watching him curiously. The melody came to an end. Lorry sighed.

"Sounds like that ole piano was just singin' its heart out all by itself," he said. "I wish Bud could hear that."

Almost immediately came the sprightly notes of "Anitra's Dance."

"And that's these here woods--and the water prancin' down the rocks, and a slim kind of a girl dancin' in the sunshine and then runnin' away to hide in the woods again." And Lorry laughed softly at his own conceit.

"Do you know the tune?" queried Bronson.

"Nope. I was just makin' that up."

"That's just Dorothy," said Bronson.

Lorry turned and gazed at him. And without knowing how it came about, Lorry understood that there had been another Dorothy who had played and sung and danced in the sunshine. And that this sprightly, slender girl was a bud of that vanished flower, a bud whose unfolding Bronson watched with such deep solicitude.

Chapter XXII

_A Tune for Uncle Bud_

Lorry had ridden to Jason, delivered his reports to the office, and received instructions to ride to the southern line of the reservation.

He would be out many days. He had brought down a pack-horse, and he returned to camp late that night with provisions and some mail for the Bronsons.

The next day he delayed starting until Dorothy had appeared. Bronson told him frankly that he was sorry to see him go, especially for such a length of time.

"But I'm glad," said Dorothy.

Lorry stared at her. Her face was grave, but there was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She laughed.

"Because it will be such fun welcoming you home again."

"Oh, I thought it might be that piano--"

"Now I shan't touch it!" she pouted, making a deliberate face at him.

He laughed. She did such unexpected things, did them so unaffectedly.

Bronson put his arms about her shoulders.

"We're keeping Mr. Adams, Peter Pan. He is anxious to be off. He has been ready for quite a while and I think he has been waiting till you appeared so that he could say good-bye."

"Are you anxious to be off?" she queried.

"Yes, ma'am. It's twenty miles over the ridge to good gra.s.s and water."

"Why, twenty miles isn't so far!"

"They's considerable up and down in them twenty miles, Miss Bronson.

Now, it wouldn't be so far for a turkey. He could fly most of the way.

But a horse is different, and I'm packin' a right fair jag of stuff."

"Well, good-bye, ranger man. Good-bye, Gray Leg,--and you two poor horses that have to carry the packs. Don't stay away all winter."

Lorry swung up and started the pack-horses. At the edge of the timber he turned and waved his hat. Dorothy and her father answered with a hearty Good-bye that echoed through the slumbering wood lands.