I'm glad you
are there. She's a nice woman."
"How far away is your ranch?"
"About sixteen miles. Oh, I say, Clover, you and Phil must come out and
stay with us sometime this summer. We'll have a round-up for you if you
will."
"What is a 'round-up' and who is 'us'?" said Clover, smiling.
"Well, a round-up is a kind of general muster of the stock. All the
animals are driven in and counted, and the young ones branded. It's pretty
exciting sometimes, I can tell you, for the cattle get wild, and it's all
we can do to manage them. You should see some of our boys ride; it's
splendid, and there's one half-breed that's the best hand with the lasso I
ever saw. Phil will like it, I know. And 'us' is me and my partner."
"Have you a partner?"
"Yes, two, in fact; but one of them lives in New Mexico just now, so he
does not count. That's Bert Talcott. He's a New York fellow. The other's
English, a Devonshire man. Geoff Templestowe is his name."
"Is he nice?"
"You can just bet your pile that he is," said Clarence, who seemed to have
assimilated Western slang with the rest of the West. "Wait till I bring
him to see you. We'll come in on purpose some day soon. Well, I must be
going. Good-by, Clover; good-by, Phil. It's awfully jolly to have you
here."
"I never should have guessed who it was," remarked Clover, as they watched
the active figure canter down the street and turn for a last flourish of
the hat.
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