"I served my apprenticeship in the slums," said Dr. Marshall. "East-Side hospital. I think that I can also appreciate what you have done for him."

"Thank you, Doctor,--but the credit belongs with the boy. h.e.l.lo! Here are our girls again." And Walter Stone and the doctor rose on the instant.

"I think I shall call you Uncle Walter," said Anne Marshall, who had not met Walter Stone until then.

"I'm unworthy," said the rancher, his eyes twinkling. "And I don't want to be relegated to the 'uncle' cla.s.s so soon."

"_Thanksawfully_," said Louise.

"Jealous, mouse?"

"Indeed, no. I'm not Mrs. Marshall's husband."

"I have already congratulated the doctor," said Walter Stone, bowing.

"Doctor," said Anne, in her most formal manner. "You're antique. Why don't you say something bright?"

"I do, every time I call you Anne. I really must go in and brush up a bit, as you suggest. You'll excuse me, I'm sure."

"Yes, indeed,--almost with pleasure. And, Doctor, _don't_ wear your fountain-pen in your white vest pocket. You're not on duty, now."

In the shadows of the mountain evening they congregated on the veranda and chatted about the East, the West, and incidentally about the proposed picnic they were to enjoy a few days later, when "boots and saddles" would be the order of the day. "And the trails are not bad, Anne," said Louise. "When you get used to them, you'll forget all about them, but your pony won't. He'll be just as deliberate and anxious about your safety, and his, at the end of the week as he was at the beginning."

"Imagine! A week of riding about these mountains! How Billy would have enjoyed it, Doctor."

"Yes. But I believe he is having a pretty good time where he is."

"We wish he could be here, Anne," said Louise. "I've never met your brother. He's always been away when I have been East."

"Which has been his misfortune," said Dr. Marshall.

"He writes such beautiful letters about the desert and his mining claim,--that's his latest fad,--and says he's much stronger. But I believe they all say that--when they have his trouble, you know."

"From Billy's last letter, I should say he was in pretty fair shape,"

said the doctor. "He's living outdoors and at a good alt.i.tude, somewhere on the desert. He's making money. He posts his letters at a town called 'Dagget,' in this State."

"Up above San Berdoo," said Walter Stone. And he straightway drifted into reverie, gazing at the bright end of his cigar until it faded in the darkness.

"h.e.l.lo!" exclaimed Dr. Marshall, leaning forward. "Sounds like the exhaust of a pretty heavy car. I didn't imagine any one would drive that canon road after dark."

"Unusual," said Stone, getting to his feet. "Some one in a hurry. I'll turn on the porch-light and defy the mosquitoes."

With a leonine roar and a succeeding clatter of empty cylinders, an immense racing-car stopped at the gate below. The powerful headlight shot a widening pathway through the night. Voices came indistinctly from the vicinity of the machine. Before Walter Stone had reached the bottom step of the porch, a huge figure appeared from out the shadows. In the radiance of the porch-light stood a wonderfully attired stranger. Frock coat, silk hat, patent leathers, striped trousers, and pearl gaiters, a white vest, and a noticeable watch-chain adorned the driver of the automobile. He stood for a minute, blinking in the light. Then he swept his hat from his head with muscular grace. "Excuse me for intrudin'," he said. "I seen this glim and headed for it. Is Mr. Walter Stone at lee-sure?"

"I'm Walter Stone," said the rancher, somewhat mystified.

"My name's Summers, Jack Summers, proprietor of the Rose Girl Mine." And Overland Red, erstwhile sheriff of Abilene, cowboy, tramp, prospector, gunman, and many other interesting things, proffered a highly engraved calling-card. Again he bowed profoundly, his hat in his hand, a white carnation in his b.u.t.tonhole and rapture in his heart. He had seen Louise again--Louise, leaning forward, staring at him incredulously. Wouldn't the Rose Girl be surprised? She was.

"I can't say that I quite understand--" began Stone.

"Why, it's the man who borrowed my pony!" exclaimed Louise.

"Correct, Miss. I--I come to thank you for lendin' me the cayuse that time."

Walter Stone simply had to laugh. "Come up and rest after your trip up the canon. Of course, you want to see Collie. He told me about your finding the claim. Says you have given him a quarter-interest. I'm glad you're doing well."

"I took a little run in to Los to get some new tires. The desert eats 'em up pretty fast. The Guzzuh, she cast her off hind shoe the other day. I was scared she'd go lame. Bein' up this way, I thought I'd roll up and see Collie."

"The 'Guzzuh'?" queried Stone. "You rode up, then?"

"Nope. The Guzzuh is me little old racin'-car. I christened her that right after I got so as I could climb on to her without her pitchin' me off. She's some bronc' she is."

Overland Red, despite his outward regeneration, was Overland Red still, only a little more so. His overwhelming apparel accentuated his peculiarities, his humorous gestures, his silent self-consciousness. But there was something big, forceful, and wholesouled about the man, something that attracted despite his incongruities.

Anne Marshall was at once--as she told Louise later--"desperately interested." Dr. Marshall saw in Overland a new and exceedingly virile type. Even gentle Aunt Eleanor received the irrepressible with unmistakable welcome. She had heard much of his history from Collie.

Overland was as irresistible as the morning sun. While endeavoring earnestly to "do the genteel," as he had a.s.sured Winthrop he would when he left him to make this visit, Overland had literally taken them by storm.

Young Dr. Marshall studied him, racking his memory for a name. Presently he turned to his wife. "What was Billy's partner's name--the miner? I've forgotten."

"A Mr. Summers, I believe. Yes, I'm sure. Jack Summers, Billy called him in his letters."

"Just a minute," said the doctor, turning to Overland, who sat, huge-limbed, smiling, red-visaged, happy. "Pardon me. You said Mr. Jack Summers, I believe? Do you happen to know a Mr. Winthrop, Billy Winthrop?"

"Me? What, Billy? Billy Winthrop? Say, is this me? I inhaled a whole lot of gasoline comin' up that grade, but I ain't feelin' dizzy. Billy Winthrop? Why--" And his exclamation subsided as he asked cautiously, "Did you know him?"

"I am his sister," said Anne Marshall.

Overland was dumbfounded. "His sister," he muttered. "The one he writ to in New York. Huh! Yes, me and Billy's pardners."

"Is he--is he better?" asked Anne hesitatingly.

"Better! Say, lady, excuse me if I tell you he's gettin' so blame frisky that he's got me scared. Why, I left him settin' on a rock eatin' a sardine san'wich with one hand and shootin' holes in all the tin cans in sight with the other. 'So long, Red!' he hollers as I lit out with the burro to cross the range. 'So long, and don't let your feet slip.' And _Pom!_ goes the .45 that he was jugglin' and another tin can pa.s.sed over. He takes a bite from the san'wich and then, _Pom!_ goes the gun again and another tin can bites the dust, jest as free and easy as if he wasn't keepin' guard over thirty or forty thousand dollars' worth of gold-dust and trouble, and jest as if he ain't got no lungs at all."

"Billy must have changed a little," ventured Dr. Marshall, smiling.

"Changed? Excuse me, ladies. But when I first turned my lamps on him in Los, I says to myself if there wasn't a fella with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana-peel, I was mistook. And listen! He come out to the Mojave with me. He jest almost cried to come. I was scared it was vi'lets and 'Gather at the River,' without the melodeum, for him. But you never see a fella get such a chest! Search me if I knows where he got it from, for he wasn't much bigger around in the works than a mosquito when I took him up there. And eat! My Gosh, he can eat! And a complexion like a Yaqui. And he can sleep longer and harder and louder than a corral of gradin' mules on Sat.u.r.day night! 'Course he's slim yet, but it's the kind of slim like rawhide that you could hobble a elephant with. And, say, he's a pardner on your life! Believe me, and I'm listenin' to myself, too."

"His lungs are better, then?"

"Lungs? He ain't got none. They're belluses--prime California skirtin'

leather off the back. Lady, that kid is a wonder."

"I'm awfully glad Billy is better. He _must_ be, judging from what you tell me."

"I wisht I'd 'a' had him runnin' the 'Guzzuh' instead of that little chicken-breasted chaffer they three-sh.e.l.led on to me in Los Angeles. I hired him because they said I 'd better take him along until I was some better acquainted with the machine. The Guzzuh ain't no ordinary bronc'."

"The 'Guzzuh'?" queried Dr. Marshall.