The Desert Moon Mystery by Kay Cleaver Strahan

For three days, beginning with the fourth of July, there was to be a big celebration and rodeo at Telko. Trying to keep cowpunchers on the ranch, when there was a celebration of any sort going on within a distance of a couple of hundred miles, would be about as sensible as trying to keep gunpowder in a hot oven. So all the outfit that was on the ranch-never very many in July-were tinkering with their flivvers, and currying their mounts, and building up their boot-heels, and washing and ironing, and making elaborate preparations to attend.

Sam suggested at noon on the second of July, while we were at dinner, that maybe all of us would like to go; all, that is, except Martha and himself. Celebrations were never good for Martha.

I spoke right up and said to count me out. I know the deserts in July. But the boys were enthusiastic about it, and Danny was interested. Gaby, coming in late, greeted the idea with the same enthusiasm with which a woman greets moths in the clothes closet.

"Whence the crave for a fourth of July celebration? " she asked.

"We have never seen a rodeo," Danny answered.

"Go, by all means," Gaby said. "Buy pink lemonade. March in the parade. Ride in the Liberty car. Mrs. Magin would be stunning as the goddess of Liberty, with -- "

"Don't let my stunningness stop anything," I said. "I am not going."

"We'll think it over," Danny said. "It would be a long, hot ride. Probably we should all have a pleasanter time, right here at home."

But there was something in the way she had said it, too quickly in answer to a look from Gaby, that made me think there was more to her backing out of the plan than had appeared on the surface.

Gaby had just begun her dinner. The rest of us had finished; so, according to our custom, we excused ourselves and went our ways. Chad tried to stay with Gaby, but Martha fussed and insisted that he come with her.

I had a sure feeling that Danny would return, and that she and Gaby would have something to say to each other. I went into the kitchen and told Belle to clean the stove. Nothing made Belle so angry as to have to clean the stove. The angrier she got, the more she clattered. When I stepped back into the pass-pantry, and opened the pass-window a crack, the kitchen sounded as if half a dozen women were busy in it.

Just as I opened the window I heard John say, "I thought Danny was in here."

"No," Gaby said. "But won't you come in and talk to me?"

"What about?"

"About-this."

I dared not peek, so I did not know what she meant until she said, "Why won't you kiss me?"

"Shall I say, I don't want to pick flowers in Hubert Hand's yard?"

"I hate you!"

"Don't be sore at me, Gaby," John said. "But I'm telling you, that's a lot nearer the truth than-than what you usually say."

John was one of the poorest talkers ever heard. One of those strong, silent men supposed to abound in the west, and who are likewise supposed to make every word that they say count. If John's did, they counted backwards.