"You're scared, ma'am, eh?" he said in a low but distinct voice. "Well, you don't need to be — now. I reckon Mr. Lobo won't ever be any deader than he is right this minute."
Eleanor walked totteringly to the fallen tree trunk and sank to it, holding tightly to some barkless branches that projected from it to keep herself from slipping off — for she knew that she had never been nearer to fainting than at this minute.
Her rescuer watched her with grave concern, the smile having departed. The pistol was still in his hand, and noting that she looked at it wonderingly—as though not quite certain what he intended to do next — he sheathed it — first ejecting the empty shell and replacing it with a loaded one. The pistol in the holster, he looked at her with a straight, level gaze.
"What's happened, ma'am? You sure didn't walk into this timber!"
She stood erect now, for she had conquered the faintness that had stolen over her, and smiled at him — though her voice quavered a little when she spoke:
"I stopped to pick some flowers and my horse strayed," she told him.
His eyes gleamed with humor. "You ain't Eastern, ma'am — I can see that. Then how —"
"I forgot. You see, I haven't been home in four years — and I left the reins on Silver's saddle."
"Then he would slope," said the man; "there bein' nothin' to stop him, an' him thinkin' that mebbe you didn't need him any more. An' then — when he'd gone — old Lobo thought he'd devil you. It's likely — if you've been in the timber any time—he's been followin' you. Well, he died hungry."
"So he did," she laughed. And then seriously: "I want to thank you. I'm afraid if you hadn't come when you did—" She shivered.
He laughed lowly. "Why, I've been watchin' you for hours, ma'am," he said gravely. "Hangin' around — quite a piece away."
She flushed angrily and stood rigid, facing him. Ready to tell him what she thought of him for spying upon her, she saw a big Bar S brand on the hip of the black horse — her father's brand. And then she knew that her father had distrusted her — had been convinced that she would ride to the timber — and that he had set this man to watch her, to see that no harm befell her.
The man saw the resentment shining in her eyes, and his expression became apologetic — so obviously apologetic that her anger vanished and a fugitive smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. The man grinned with her — sensing her forgiveness. But instantly she frowned, determined that though the man had saved her from the wolf he should not be permitted to presume upon his service — for he had been employed to do what he had done.
She wondered, though, even while she looked straight at him with a slightly belligerent gaze — how it happened that her father had selected so striking a cowboy to stand guard over her.
He was not handsome — men were never that, she was convinced—for that would make them seem effeminate. But he was undeniably good-looking. And his steel-gray eyes, now watching her with a glint of humor in them, were also aglimmer with the light of an intelligence that was rare in cowboys she had known'—those who had worked for her father, for instance.
He was tall, lithe, and muscular; he looked capable — that was the word that thoroughly described him, she thought — until she began to be affected by the atmosphere of grave and grim deliberation that seemed to envelop him.
The humor which seemed to glint his eyes was, she became convinced as she studied him, oddly mingled with malice, not vicious, but cynical — as though he was continually alert for deceit and trickery.
His gaze was highly disconcerting — she felt that were she a man she would not care to trifle with him. For in his eyes, in the way he moved, and in his attitude, was a lingering threat of cold preparedness — a readiness for anything that might happen.
However, she was indignant because he had admitted he had been watching her, and was not so deeply impressed by him as she might have been had she me f him under different circumstances. She raised her chin defiantly.
"So you were watching me. Then, when you asked me if I had walked here, you were merely trying to be humorous, is that it?"
His eyes twinkled. "I wasn't intendin' to tell you." His lips twitched into a smile. "But when you shivered that way, gettin' ready to faint, I just had to let you know that you wasn't in any great danger. You see, women ain't got much nerve, ma'am."
"Well," she said scornfully, "so long as there are men in the world I suppose women do not need nerve. I suppose you mean to infer that it was a good thing for me that a man happened to be near?"
"Men are sort of handy—sometimes," he grinned.
"Well," she ordered, looking coldly at him, "catch my, horse, and don't stand there trying to be amusing. That is not what Father employs you for, is it?"
He bowed, smiled, kicked the black horse in the ribs, and rode down the aisle toward the point where Silver had disappeared.
The girl watched him until he could no longer be seen, and then she again seated herself on the fallen tree trunk and gazed reflectively at the dead body of the wolf.
And now that he had gone, and she was left with the memory of her experience, she realized that, even though he had been employed to watch her, he had rendered valuable service; and that he had been as delicate in his espionage as had been possible.
And he certainly was gentlemanly— for a cowboy; and — hadn't she been a little too severe? He had done what he had been ordered to do — and had done it well; and she had censured him when he deserved commendation.
So her thoughts ran, with the result that when the man reappeared a little later, leading the recreant Silver, her rnanner toward her rescuer was slightly more gracious. She even smiled at him when he offered to help her mount the horse. And then, when she was in the saddle, and he was lounging in his own, watching her gravely, she said:
"As long as I know you are watching me, I suppose you might as well ride with me. Have you any special orders regarding me?"
At his slow negative she resumed:
"Father warned me against going to the Three Bar. But there is still time, and I am going there. I want you to go with me. That will take the edge off Father's displeasure when he discovers I disregarded his warning. Do you know Beaudry Rand?"
A nod was her answer. It was accompanied by a swift, intent glance, as though he was speculating over her.
"Then you can introduce me!" she said, laughing. "It will be decidedly novel to be formally presented to an outlaw!"
He grinned. "I expect it will, ma'am."
She looked around, perplexity in her eyes.
"I really believe I am lost!" she said. "I have no sense of direction since — since that beast came upon me."
Silently he urged the black horse out of the clearing and sent it westward through the timber. Eleanor, after glancing sharply around, smiled, for she had not really lost her sense of direction — she had merely wanted the man to ride ahead of her so that upon him would rest the burden of finding the trail. For she was tired, though determined to go to the Three Bar — and she wanted to look at the man, for he interested her.
She did not let him get very far in advance of her — there were times when the head of her horse was at the withers of the black. But the man paid no attention to her — seemingly. He rode onward, silent, looking straight ahead; and his apparent lack of interest in her soon irritated her.
She spoke almost sharply to him at last, resentment plain in her voice:
"Are you sure you are going in the right direction?"
"Pretty sure," came the answer. Still he did not look around.
For a time the solemn silence of the forest was not broken except by the whipping tread of their