ew
York, I think."

"I'll take you to a place where the paths are primrose-strewn and where
nightingales sing," he promised rashly.

She smiled incredulously, a wise old little smile that had no right on
her young face.

The report of the engagement spread at once. Bromfield took care of
that. It ran like wildfire upstairs and down in the Whitford
establishment. Naturally Johnnie, who was neither one of the servants
nor a member of the family, was the last to hear of it. One day the
word was carried to him, and a few hours later he read the confirmation
of it on the hand of his young mistress.

The Runt had the clairvoyance of love. He knew that Clay was not now
happy, though the cattleman gave no visible sign of it except a certain
quiet withdrawal into himself. He ate as well as usual. His talk was
cheerful. He joked the puncher and made Kitty feel at home by teasing
her. In the evenings he shooed out the pair of them to a
moving-picture show and once or twice went along. But he had a habit
of falling into reflection, his deep-set eyes fixed on some object he
could not see. Johnnie worried about him.

The evening of the day the Runt heard of the engagement he told his
friend about it while Kitty was in the kitchen.

"Miss Beatrice she's wearing a new ring," he said by way of breaking
the news gently.

Clay turned his head slowly and looked at Johnnie. He waited without
speaking.

"I heerd it to-day from one of the help. Then I seen it on her
finger," the little man went on reluctantly.

"Bromfield?" asked Clay.

"Yep. That's the story."

"The ring was on the left hand?"

"Yep."

Clay made no comment. His friend knew enough to say no more to him.
Presently the cattleman went out. It was in the small hours of the
morning when he returned. He had been tramping the streets to get the
fever out of his blood.

But Johnnie discussed with Kitty at length this new development, just
as he had discussed with her the fact that Clay no longer went to see
the Whitfords. Kitty made a shrewd guess at the cause of division.
She had already long since drawn from the cowpuncher the story of how
Miss Beatrice had rejected his proposal that she take an interest in
her.

"They must 'a' quarreled--likely about me being here. I'm sorry you
told her."

"I don't reckon that's it." Johnnie scratched his head to facilitate
the process of thinking. He wanted to remain loyal to all of his three
friends