'Firebrand' Trevison. Charles Alden Seltzer

you’re going to live out here?” he said, after an interval. “Where?”

      “I heard father speak of buying Blakeley’s place. Do you know where it is?”

      “It adjoins mine.” There was a leaping note in his voice, which she did not fail to catch. “Do you see that dark line over there?” He pointed eastward—a mile perhaps. “That’s a gully; it divides my land from Blakeley’s. Blakeley told me a month ago that he was dickering with an eastern man. If you are thinking of looking the place over, and want a trustworthy escort I should be pleased to recommend—myself.” And he grinned widely at her.

      “I shall consider your offer—and I thank you for it,” she returned. “I feel positive that father will buy a ranch here, for he has much faith in the future of Manti—he is obsessed with it.”

      He looked sharply at her. “Then your father is going to have a hand in the development of Manti? I heard a rumor to the effect that some eastern company was interested, had, in fact, secured the water rights for an enormous section.”

      She remembered what Corrigan had told her, and blushingly dissembled:

      “I put no faith in rumor—do you? Mr. Corrigan is the head of the company which is to develop Manti. But of course that is an eastern company, isn’t it?”

      He nodded, and she smiled at a thought that came to her. “How far is it to Blakeley’s ranchhouse?” she asked.

      “About two parasangs,” he answered gravely.

      “Well,” she said, mimicking him; “I could never walk there, could I? If I go, I shall have to borrow a horse—or buy one. Could you recommend a horse that would be as trustworthy as the escort you have promised me?”

      “We shall go to Blakeley’s tomorrow,” he told her. “I shall bring you a trustworthy horse at ten o’clock in the morning.”

      They were approaching the cut, and she nodded an acceptance. An instant later he was talking to his men, and she sat near him, watching them as they raced over the plains toward the Diamond K ranchhouse. One man remained; he was without a mount, and he grinned with embarrassment when Rosalind’s gaze rested on him.

      “Oh,” she said; “you are waiting for your horse! How stupid of me!” She dismounted and turned the animal over to him. When she looked around, Trevison had also dismounted and was coming toward her, leading the black, the reins looped through his arm. Rosalind flushed, and thought of Agatha, but offered no objection.

      It was a long walk down the slope of the hill and around its base to the private car, but they made it still longer by walking slowly and taking the most roundabout way. Three persons saw them coming—Agatha, standing rigid on the platform; the negro attendant, standing behind Agatha in the doorway, his eyes wide with interest; and Carson, seated on a boulder a little distance down the cut, grinning broadly.

      “Bedad,” he rumbled; “the bhoy’s made a hit wid her, or I’m a sinner! But didn’t I know he wud? The two bulldogs is goin’ to have it now, sure as I’m a foot high!”