La----" She bit her speech off midword.

"No men there except this Mr. Lake?" asked the cowboy idly.

"Oh, yes; there's Mr. Herbert--he's gone riding with Lettie--and Mr.

White; but it was Mr. Lake who got up the camping party. Mother and Aunt Lot, and a crowd of us girls--La Luz girls, you know. Mother and I are visiting Mr. Lake's sister. He's going to give us a masquerade ball when we get back, next week."

The cowboy looked down his nose for consultation, and his nose gave a meditative little tweak.

"What Lake is it? There's some several Lakes round here. Is it Lake of Aqua Chiquite--wears his hair decollete; talks like he had a washboard in his throat; tailor-made face; walks like a duck on stilts; general sort of pouter-pigeon effect?"

At this envenomed description, Miss Ellinor Hoffman promptly choked.

"I don't know anything about your Aqua Chiquite. I never heard of the place before. He is a banker in Arcadia. He keeps a general store there.

You must know him, surely." So far her voice was rather stern and purposely resentful, as became Mr. Lake's guest; but there were complications, rankling memories of Mr. Lake--of unwelcome attentions persistently forced upon her. She spoiled the rebuke by adding tartly, "But I think he is the man you mean!" and felt her wrongs avenged.

The cowboy's face cleared.

"Well, I don't use Arcadia much, you see. I mostly range down Rainbow River. Arcadia folks--why, they're mostly newcomers, health-seekers and people just living on their incomes--not working folks much, except the railroaders and lumbermen. Now about getting home. You see, ma'am, some of the boys are riding down that way"--he jerked his thumb to indicate the last flight of the imperfectly gentle horse--"and they're right apt to see my runaway eohippus and sure to see the rope-drag; so they'll likely amble along the back track to see how much who's hurt. So I guess I'd better stay here. They may be along most any time. Thank you kindly, just the same. Of course, if they don't come at all----Is your camp far?"

"Not--not very," said Ellinor. The mere fact was that Miss Ellinor had set out ostensibly for a sketching expedition with another girl, had turned aside to explore, and exploring had fetched a circuit that had left her much closer to her starting-place than to her goal. He misinterpreted the slight hesitation.

"Well, ma'am, thank you again; but I mustn't be keeping you longer. I really ought to see you safe back to your camp; but--you'll understand--under the circ.u.mstances--you'll excuse me?"

He did not want to implicate Mr. Lake, so he took a limping step forward to justify his rudeness.

"And you hardly able to walk? Ridiculous! What I ought to do is to go back to camp and get some one--get Mr. White to help you." Thus, at once accepting his unspoken explanation, and offering her own apology in turn, she threw aside the air of guarded hostility that had marked the last minutes and threw herself anew into this joyous adventure.

"When--or if--your friends find you, won't it hurt you to ride?" she asked, and smiled deliberate encouragement.

"I can be as modest as anybody when there's anything to be modest about; but in this case I guess I'll now declare that I can ride anything that a saddle will stay on.... I reckon," he added reflectively, "the boys'll have right smart to say about me being throwed."

"But you weren't thrown! You rode magnificently!" Her eyes flashed admiration.

"Yes'm. That's what I hoped you'd say," said the admired one complacently. "Go on, ma'am. Say it again."

"It was splendid! The saddle turned--that's all!"

He slowly surveyed the scene of his late exploit.

"Ye--es, that was some riding--for a while," he admitted. "But you see, that saddle now, scarred up that way--why, they'll think the eohippus wasted me and then dragged the saddle off under a tree. Leastways, they'll say they think so, frequent. Best not to let on and to make no excuses. It'll be easier that way. We're great on guying here. That's most all the fun we have. We sure got this joshing game down fine. Just wondering what all the boys'd say--that was why I didn't get out of the water at first, before--before I thought I was asleep, you know."

"So you'll actually tell a lie to keep from being thought a liar? I'm disappointed in you."

"Why, ma'am, I won't say anything. They'll do the talking."

"It'll be deceitful, just the same," she began, and checked herself suddenly. A small twinge struck her at the thought of poor Maud, really sketching on Thumb b.u.t.te, and now disconsolately wondering what had become of lunch and fellow-artist; but she quelled this pang with a sage thought of the greatest good to the greatest number, and clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, what a silly I am, to be sure! I've got a lunch basket up there, but I forgot all about it in the excitement. I'm sure there's plenty for two. Shall I bring it down to you or can you climb up if I help you? There's water in the canteen--and it's beautiful up there."

"I can make it, I guess," said the invited guest--the consummate and unblushing hypocrite. Make it he did, with her strong hand to aid; and the glen rang to the laughter of them. While behind them, all unnoted, Johnny Dines reined up on the hillside; took one sweeping glance at that joyous progress, the scarred hillside, the saddle and the dejected eohippus in the background; grinned comprehension, and discreetly withdrew.

CHAPTER III

MAXWELTON BRAES

"Oh the song--the song in the blood!

Magic walks the forest; there's bewitchment on the air-- Spring is at the flood!"

--_The Gypsy Heart._

"Well, sir, this here feller, he lit a cigarette an' throwed away the match, an' it fell in a powder kaig; an' do you know, more'n half that powder burned up before they could put it out!

Yes, sir!"--WILDCAT THOMPSON.

Ellinor opened her basket and spread its tempting wares with pretty hostly care--or is there such a word as hostessly?

"There! All ready, Mr.----I declare, this is too absurd! We don't even know each other's names!" Her conscious eye fell upon the ampleness of the feast--amazing, since it purported to have been put up for one alone; and her face lit up with mischievous delight. She curtsied. "If you please, I'm the Ultimate Consumer!"

He rose, bowing gravely.

"I am the Personal Devil. Glad to meet you."

"Oh! I've heard of you!" remarked the Ultimate Consumer sweetly. She sat down and extended her hand across the spotless linen. "Mr. Lake says----"

The Personal Devil flushed. It was not because of the proffered hand, which he took unhesitatingly and held rather firmly. The blush was unmistakably caused by anger.

"There is no connection whatever," he stated, grimly enough, "between the truth and Mr. Lake's organs of speech."

"Oh!" cried the Ultimate Consumer triumphantly. "So you're Mr. Beebe?"

"Bransford--Jeff Bransford," corrected the Personal Devil crustily. He wilfully relapsed to his former slipshod speech. "Beebe, he's gone to the Pecos work, him and Ballinger. Mr. John Wesley Also-Ran Pringle's gone to Old Mexico to bring back another bunch of black, long-horned Chihuahuas. You now behold before you the last remaining Rose of Rosebud. But, why Beebe?"

"Why does Mr. Lake hate all of you so, Mr. Bransford?"

"Because we are infamous scoundrels. Why Beebe?"

"I can't eat with one hand, Mr. Bransford," she said demurely. He looked at the prisoned hand with a start and released it grudgingly. "Help yourself," said his hostess cheerfully. "There's sandwiches, and roast beef and olives, for a mild beginning."

"Why Beebe?" he said doggedly.

"Help yourself to the salad and then please pa.s.s it over this way. Thank you."

"Why Beebe?"

"Oh, very well then! Because of the little eohippus, you know--and other things you said."

"I see!" said the aggrieved Bransford. "Because I'm not from Ohio, like Beebe, I'm not supposed----"

"Oh, if you're going to be fussy! I'm from California myself, Mr.