Chapter XI

_Spring Lamb_

Mrs. Adams had decided to have roast spring lamb for dinner that evening. Instead, her guests had to content themselves with canned salmon and hot biscuit. And because ...

Lorry appeared at the breakfast table in overalls and jumper. He had purposely waited until the Westons had gone downstairs. He antic.i.p.ated an invitation to ride to the hills with them. He would decline, and smile as he did so. If that girl thought he cared anything about _her_!

He answered their greeting with a cheery "Good-mornin'," and immediately turned his whole attention to bacon and eggs.

Alice Weston wondered that his eyes should be so clear and care-free, knowing what she did of last night's escapade.

Mrs. Adams was interested in the girl's riding-habit. It made her own plain riding-skirt and blouse appear rather countrified. And after breakfast Lorry watched the preparations for the ride with a critical eye. No one would know whether or not he cared to go. They seemed to have taken it for granted that he would. He whistled softly, and shook his head as his mother suggested that he get ready.

"Of course you're coming with us," said Alice Weston.

"I got to look after the hotel," he said with conclusive emphasis.

Lorry disappeared, and in the bustle of preparation and departure Mrs.

Adams did not miss him until they were some distance out on the mesa.

"Where's Lorry?" she queried.

"He said he had to look after the hotel," said Alice Weston.

"Well, he didn't. I had everything arranged for. I don't know what's got into him lately."

Back at the hotel Lorry was leaning against the veranda rail, talking to Mrs. Weston. "I reckon it will be kind of tame for you, ma'am. I was wondering, now, if you would let me look over that machine. I've helped fix 'em up lots of times."

"Why, I don't know. It wouldn't do any harm to look, would it?"

"I guess not."

Mrs. Weston gazed at Lorry curiously. He had smiled, and he resembled Waring so closely that Mrs. Weston remarked it aloud.

Lorry flushed. "I think Mr. Waring is a right good-lookin' man, don't you?"

Mrs. Weston laughed. "Yes, I do."

"Yes, ma'am. But honest, Mrs. Weston, I never did see a finer-lookin'

girl than your girl. I seen plenty of magazine pictures like her. I'd feel some proud if I was her mother."

The morning was not so dull, after all. Mrs. Weston was not used to such frankness, but she was not displeased. "I see you have on your working clothes. If you really think you can repair the car--"

"I got nothin' else to do. The sun is gettin' round to the front. If you would like to sit in the car and watch, I would look her over; there, in the shade."

"I'll get a hat," said Mrs. Weston, rising.

"Your hair is right pretty without a hat. And besides you would be in the shade of the top."

It had been some time since any one had complimented Mrs. Weston about her hair, and especially a man young enough to be her son. What was the cowboy going to say next?

Mrs. Weston stepped into the car, which was parked on the south side of the building. Lorry, whistling blithely, searched until he found a wrench in one of the forward-door pockets. He disappeared beneath the car. Mrs. Weston could hear him tinkering at something. She leaned back, breathing deep of the clean, thin air. She could not recall having felt so thoroughly content and keenly alive at the same time. She had no desire to say or do anything.

Presently Lorry appeared, his face grimy and his hands streaked with oil. "Nothin' busted," he reported cheerfully. "We got a car over to the ranch. She's been busted a-plenty. I fixed her up more times than I can remember. Cars is like horses ma'am; no two just alike, but kind of generally the same. The steering-knuckle ain't broke. It's the left axle that's sprung. That won't take long to straighten."

Mrs. Weston smiled. Lorry thought she was actually pretty. She saw this in his eyes, and flushed slightly.

"And I'll just block her up and take off the wheel, and I reckon the blacksmith can straighten that axle easy."

"It's very nice of you. But I am wondering why you didn't go on the picnic--with the others."

"Well, who'd 'a' kept you company, ma'am? Anita, she's busy. Anyhow, I seen plenty of scenery. I'd rather be here."

"Talking to a woman old enough to be your mother?"

"Huh! I never thought of you like that. I'm only eighteen. Anyhow, what difference does it make how old a lady is, if she is pretty?"

Mrs. Weston's eyes twinkled. "Do you ever pay compliments to yourself when you are combing your hair or tying your scarf?"

"Me! Why, not so anybody could hear 'em. Now, I think my mother is right pretty, Mrs. Weston."

"So do I. And it was nice of you to say it."

"But I don't see anything wrong in sayin' what's so," he argued. "I seen you kind of raise your eyebrows, and I thought mebby I was bein' took as a joke."

"Oh, no, indeed!"

Lorry disappeared again. As he worked he wondered just how long it would be before Buck Hardy would look for him. Lorry knew that some one must have taken food and water to the prisoner by this time, or to where the prisoner was supposed to be. But he did not know that Hardy and his deputy had questioned Anita, and that she had told the sheriff the folks had all gone on a picnic to the hills. The car, at the back of the hotel, was not visible from the street.

With some pieces of timber Lorry jacked up the front of the machine and removed the damaged wheel and axle.

He took the bent axle to the blacksmith, and returned to the hotel.

Nothing further offered just then, so he suggested that he clean the car. Mrs. Weston consented, deciding that she would not pay him until her daughter returned.

He attached the hose to a faucet, and suggested that Mrs. Weston take a chair, which he brought from the veranda. He hosed the car, and as he polished it, Mrs. Weston asked him about Waring.

"Why, he's a friend of ours," replied Lorry.

"Of course. But I was wondering what he did."

Lorry hesitated. "Didn't you ever hear that song about Waring of Sonora-Town? It's a whizzer. Well, that's him. All the cowboys sing that song."

"I have never heard it."

"Well, mebby dad wouldn't like that I sing it. He's kind of funny that way. Now you wouldn't think he was the fastest gunman in the Southwest, would you?"