"Now, that's more like it. He looks like what I expected to see. What a fine, big chap he is, isn't he?" Then, as she studied the distant horseman, a puzzled expression came over her face. "Why, Kitty!" she said in a low tone, so that the men who were talking did not hear. "Do you know, that man somehow reminds me"--she hesitated and lowered the gla.s.ses to look at her companion with half-amused, half-embarra.s.sed eyes--"he reminds me of Lawrence Knight."

Kitty's brown, fun-loving eyes glowed with mischief. "Really, Mrs.

Manning, I am ashamed of you. Before the honeymoon has waned, your thoughts, with no better excuse than the appearance of a poor cow-puncher, go back to the captivating charms of your old millionaire lover. I--"

"Kitty! Do hush," pleaded Helen.

She lifted her gla.s.ses for another look at the cowboy.

"I don't wonder that your conscience reproves you," teased Kitty, in a low tone. "But tell me, poor child, how did it happen that you lost your millionaire?"

"I didn't lose him," retorted Helen, still watching Patches. "He lost me."

Kitty persisted with a playful mockery. "What! the great, the wonderful Knight of so many millions, failed, with all his glittering charms, to captivate the fair but simple Helen! Really, I can't believe it."

"Look at that man right there," flashed Helen proudly, indicating her husband, "and you can believe it."

Kitty laughed so gaily that Stanford turned to look at them with smiling inquiry.

"Never mind, Mr. Manning," said Kitty, "we are just reminiscing, that's all."

"Don't miss the race," he answered; "they're getting ready again to start. It looks like a go this time."

"And to think," murmured Kitty, "that I never so much as saw your Knight's picture! But you used to like Lawrence Knight, didn't you, Helen?" she added, as Helen lifted her field gla.s.ses again. And now, Mrs. Manning caught a note of earnest inquiry in her companion's voice.

It was as though the girl were seeking confirmation of some purpose or decision of her own.

"Why, yes, Kitty, I liked Larry Knight very much," she answered frankly.

"He was a fine fellow in many ways--a dear, good friend. Stanford and I are both very fond of him; they were college mates, you know. But, my dear girl, no one could ever consider poor old Larry seriously--as a man, you know--he is so--so utterly and hopelessly worthless."

"Worthless! With--how many millions is it?"

"Oh, Kitty, you know what I mean. But, really dear, we have talked enough about Mr. Lawrence Knight. I'm going to have another look at the cowboy. _He_ looks like a real man, doesn't he? What is it the Dean called him?"

"Patches."

"Oh, yes; what a funny name--Patches."

"Honorable Patches," said Kitty.

"How odd!" mused Helen. "Oh, Stan, come here a minute. Take the gla.s.ses and look at that cowboy down there."

Stanford trained the field gla.s.ses as she directed.

"Doesn't he remind you of Larry Knight?"

"Larry Knight!" Stanford looked at her in amazement. "That cow-puncher?

Larry Knight? I should say _not_. Lord! but wouldn't fastidious, cultured and correct old Larry feel complimented to know that you found anything in a common cow-puncher to remind you of him!"

"But, here, take your gla.s.ses, quick; they are going to start at last."

Even as Helen looked, Judge Morris gave the signal and the first racing car, with a mighty roar, leaped away from the starting point, and thundered up the street between the lines of the crowding, cheering people. An instant more, and Helen Manning witnessed a scene that thrilled the hearts of every man, woman and child in that great crowd.

As the big racing car, gathering speed at every throb of its powerful motor, swept toward the hill, a small boy, but little more than a toddling baby, escaped from his mother, who, with the excited throng, was crowding against the rope barrier, and before those whose eyes were fixed on the automobile noticed, the child was in the street, fairly in the path of the approaching machine. A sudden hush fell on the shouting mult.i.tude. Helen, through the field gla.s.ses, could see even the child's face, as, laughing gleefully, he looked back when his mother screamed.

Stricken with horror, the young woman could not lower her gla.s.ses.

Fascinated, she watched. The people seemed, for an instant, paralyzed.

Not a soul moved or uttered a sound. Would the driver of the racing car swerve aside from his course in time? If he did, would the baby, in sudden fright, dodge in front of the machine? Then Helen saw the cowboy who had so interested her lean forward in his saddle and strike his spurs deep in the flanks of his already restless horse. With a tremendous bound the animal cleared the rope barrier, and in an instant was leaping toward the child and the approaching car. The people gasped at the daring of the man who had not waited to think. It was over in a second. As Patches swept by the child, he leaned low from the saddle; and, as the next leap of his horse carried him barely clear of the machine, they saw his tall, lithe body straighten, as he swung the baby up into his arms.

Then, indeed, the crowd went wild. Men yelled and cheered; women laughed and cried; and, as the cowboy returned the frightened baby to the distressed mother, a hundred eager hands were stretched forth to greet him. But the excited horse backed away; someone raised the rope barrier, and Patches disappeared down the side street.

Helen's eyes were wet, but she was smiling. "No," she said softly to Kitty and Stanford, "that was _not_ Lawrence Knight. Poor old Larry never could have done that."

It was a little after the noon hour when Kitty, who, with her father, mother and brothers, had been for dinner at the home of one of their Prescott friends, was crossing the plaza on her way to join Mr. and Mrs.

Manning, with whom she was to spend the afternoon. In a less frequented corner of the little park, back of the courthouse, she saw Patches. The cowboy, who had changed from his ranch costume to a less picturesque business garb, was seated alone on one of the benches that are placed along the walks, reading a letter. With his attention fixed upon the letter, he did not notice Kitty as she approached. And the girl, when she first caught sight of him, paused for an instant; then she went toward him slowly, studying him with a new interest.

She was quite near when, looking up, he saw her. Instantly he rose to his feet, slipped the letter into his pocket, and stood before her, hat in hand, to greet her with genuine pleasure and with that gentle courtesy which always marked his bearing. And Kitty, as she looked up at him, felt, more convincingly than ever, that this man would be perfectly at ease in the most exacting social company.

"I fear I interrupted you," said the young woman. "I was just pa.s.sing."

"Not at all," he protested. "Surely you can give me a moment of your busy gala day. I know you have a host of friends, of course, but--well, I am lonely. Curly and Bob and the boys are all having the time of their lives; the Dean and mother are lunching with friends; and I don't know where Phil has hidden himself."

It was like him to mention Phil in almost his first words to her. And Kitty, as Patches spoke Phil's name, instantly, as she had so often done during the past few months, mentally placed the two men side by side.

"I just wanted to tell you"--she hesitated--"Mr. Patches--"

"I beg your pardon," he interrupted smiling.

"Well, Patches then; but you seem so different somehow, dressed like this. I just wanted to tell you that I saw what happened this morning.

It was splendid!"

"Why, Miss Reid, you know that was nothing. The driver of the car would probably have dodged the youngster anyway. I acted on the impulse of the moment, without thinking. I'm always doing something unnecessarily foolish, you know."

"The driver of the car would more likely have dodged into the child,"

she returned warmly. "And it was fortunate that some one in all that stupid crowd could act without taking time to think. Everybody says so.

The dear old Dean is as pleased and proud as though you were one of his own sons."

"Really, you make too much of it," he returned, clearly embarra.s.sed by her praise. "Tell me, you are enjoying the celebration? And what's the matter with Phil? Can't you persuade him to ride in the contest? We don't want the championship to go out of Yavapai County, do we?"

Why must he always bring Phil into their talk? Kitty asked herself.

"I am sure that Phil knows how all his friends feel about his riding,"

she said coolly. "If he does not wish to gratify them, it is really a small matter, is it not?"

Patches saw that he had made a mistake and changed easily to a safer topic.

"You saw the beginning of the automobile race, of course? I suppose you will be on hand this afternoon for the finish?"

"Oh, yes, I'm on my way now to join my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Stanford Manning. We are going to see the finish of the race together."

She watched his face closely, as she spoke of her friends, but he gave no sign that he had ever heard the name before.