"Hello, Wils!" she replied, slowly. "Oh, I guess I can keep out of the
way."

"Some bad steers in that bunch. If any of them run over here Pronto will
leave you to walk home. That mustang hates cattle. And he's only half
broke, you know."

"I forgot you were driving to-day," she replied, and looked away from
him. There was a moment's pause--long, it seemed to her.

"What'd you come for?" he asked, curiously.

"I wanted to gather columbines. See." She held out the nodding flowers
toward him. "Take one.... Do you like them?"

"Yes. I like columbine," he replied, taking one of them. His keen hazel
eyes, softened, darkened. "Colorado's flower."

"Columbine!... It is my name."

"Well, could you have a better? It sure suits you."

"Why?" she asked, and she looked at him again.

"You're slender--graceful. You sort of hold your head high and proud.
Your skin is white. Your eyes are blue. Not bluebell blue, but columbine
blue--and they turn purple when you're angry."

"Compliments! Wilson, this is new kind of talk for you," she said.