For a moment they watched as he stood with his eyes fixed on the
far horizon.
"Go back a little way," whispered Endicott. "I want to speak with
him." The girl obeyed, and he stepped boldly into the open.
"Tex!"
The man whirled. "What you doin' here?" his face flushed red, then,
with an effort, he smiled, as his eyes rested upon the blossoms.
"Pickin' posies?"
"Yes," answered Endicott, striving to speak lightly, "for a very
special occasion. We are to be married at half-past four, and we want
you to be there--just you, and Bat, and the parson. I hunted the town
for you and when I found your horse gone I--we thought you had ridden
away without even saying good-bye."
"No," answered the cowboy slowly, "I didn't do that. I was goin'
back--just for a minute--at stage time. But, it's better this way. In
rooms--like at dinner, I ain't at home, any more. It's better out here
in the open. I won't go to your weddin'. Damn it, man, I _can't_!
I'm more than half-savage, I reckon. By the savage half of me, I ought
to kill you. I ought to hate you--but I can't. About a lot of things
you're green as hell. You can't shoot, nor ride, nor rope, nor do
hardly any other damn thing a man ought to do. But, at that, you whirl
a bigger loop than I do. You've got the nerve, an' the head, an' the
heart.
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