she said, with a flashing look, taking him in from heated face to spurred boots.
Cal Thurman’s strained attention broke. He fell back against the seat of the car. “By Heaven!” he whispered. “I understand teacher now. She put this job up on me. That—that girl’s her sister—the sister I’m to meet.” Shocked out of his equilibrium, compelled to face an exigency vastly different from the one he had dreaded, beginning to thrill and tingle with a strange dawning exultation, Cal could only sit there and stare and listen.
Manifestly Miss Georgiana expected Hatfield to introduce himself, and her manner was one of pleased anticipation. She liked the looks of this Arizonian. Hatfield, however, did not seem disposed to tell his name; and his manner, though bold and assured, showed something of awkwardness. Either he was not quick-witted enough for the situation or he had not judged Miss Stockwell correctly. She seemed swift to grasp something strange in his omission or in what might be the brusque way of Westerners, and she lost a little of her self-possession. Her sophistication was not very old or deep.
“Come over to the garage with me an’ I’ll put you in a car,” said Hatfield, and gathering up several of her bags he started down the porch steps.
“Thank you—I’ll wait here,” replied the young lady, hesitatingly, and she watched him depart. Then Wess Thurman stepped forward to address her.
“Miss Stockwell,” he began, with an earnestness that precluded embarrassment, “shore if you go with Bid Hatfield you’ll never be welcome at the Thurman ranch.”
She stared up at the tall lean-faced rider, and it was plain now that something seemed wrong to her.
“What am I up against?” she queried, tartly. “How do I know who Bid Hatfield is? He appeared to be the only gentleman to notice that I am a stranger and alone. Besides he said he was looking for me. I took him to be Mr. Cal Thurman.”
“Wal, you’re shore mistaken, an’ Cal won’t be flattered,” replied the rider. “I’m Wess Thurman, an’ we—us heah—thet is I—I come to meet you an’ take you to your sister.”
Manifest indeed was the line of demarkation where Wess passed from loyal sincerity to a personal deceit. His big hand tugged at the evident tight band of his flannel shirt at the neck. And the shade of paleness which had come into his face at the effrontery of Hatfield changed to a dusky red.
Miss Georgiana eyed Wess dubiously, and her thoughts must have been varying and bewildering, until she gathered something of the truth of the situation. Not improbably this contretemps was not new to her, except in its Arizona setting and the individuality of these riders.
“I was told down the road that Mr. Cal Thurman telephoned he would meet me,” she said. “Where is he?”
“Wal, miss—you see,” floundered Wess, trying to arise to his opportunity, “Cal’s only a boy—an’ he was takin’ a lot on himself. Now I’m a-goin’ to take you out to Green Valley Ranch.”
“You are very kind,” replied Georgiana, sweetly. “Did my sister Mary send you to meet me?”
“Wal, I reckon—not jest that—but we—the boys—I mean I said I’d shore see you home safe,” replied Wess, swallowing hard.
Miss Georgiana gazed roguishly up at him, and then at Arizona, who was edging closer, and then at Pan Handle and Tim Matthews, now showing signs of animation.
“We fetched the—big car,” said Arizona, breathlessly. That seemed a signal of encouragement to the other boys. Wess and Pan Handle and Tim crowded round the girl. Arizona refused to be edged aside from his favorable position.
“We? Oh, I’m to have several escorts,” responded Georgiana, demurely, as she gazed up at them.
“Shore we-all came to escort you,” put in Tim, rather timidly, but with beaming face.
“Lady, you’re a-goin’ with the right outfit,” said Pan Handle.
“Outfit! Oh, then you belong to the Four T’s—at the Thurman ranch where my sister lives?” cried Georgiana, eagerly.
“Wal, miss, you shore hit it on the haid,” drawled Wess, with his engaging smile. He had recovered his balance. Blandly he introduced his comrades. “This heah is Arizona, who ain’t got any other name. An’ this’s Pan Handle Ames, an’ heah’s Tim Matthews.”
Georgiana gave all in turn her hand, and a look that further marked their utter demoralization.
“And Mr. Cal Thurman—where is he?” she queried.
“Reckon Cal didn’t want to bother aboot meetin’ you, lady,” said Tim, blandly. “Last night he beefed a lot. He was heah when the stage come in, an’ I guess he beat it.”
“Oh, I see,” replied the girl. “I’m sorry if my coming has annoyed anyone.”
“Wal, it didn’t annoy anyone but Cal, I’ll swear to thet,” answered Tim. His comrades laughed at this.
That was all the byplay Cal heard, for his attention was attracted by sight of Hatfield returning from the garage with a hired car. During the amazing and preposterous stand made by Wess and the boys in their endeavor to work this situation to their pleasure Cal had recovered from his consternation. The boys had been quick to grasp at the trick played upon them by the school-teacher, and meant now to turn the tables on Cal and take Miss Georgiana home. Cal vowed they would never succeed. The situation had changed wonderfully to his advantage. How pretty the girl was! Already those deceitful rogues, who had come to Ryson solely to play some outlandish joke on him, had become smitten with this girl. Cal drew a deep breath and leaped out of the car. He felt master of this situation, and something stirred in him, deeper and more fiery than the situation seemed to justify.
When Hatfield halted at the porch Cal deliberately looked into the car, and seeing Miss Stockwell’s bags, he promptly lifted them out. Hatfield swaggered out of his seat.
“Hey, Thurman, what’re you up to?” he demanded.
His loud voice silenced the conversation on the porch, and everybody turned to stare.
“Bid, I’m relievin’ you of Miss Stockwell’s baggage,” said Cal, coolly. “I was sent to meet her an’ I’m goin’ to take her home.”
Hatfield’s muscular body jerked with a start of angry passion, and for an instant he glared darkly at Cal, with the blood slowly leaving his face. There was more here than the mere opposition confronting him. Then he masked his true feelings.
“Well, Cal, you didn’t show up an’ nobody else in your outfit had any manners, so I offered to escort Miss Stockwell,” he said.
“Ahuh!” ejaculated Cal, taken back by the rider’s terse reply.
Whereupon Hatfield mounted the porch, and with a gallant bow he faced the girl.
“Miss Stockwell, will you let me take you to your sister or do you prefer to go with Thurman?” he inquired, courteously.
The girl had quickened and stirred with the excitement of the moment. Manifestly she was alive to Hatfield’s striking appearance and personality. Then she turned her flashing gaze upon Cal.
That was indeed a trying moment for him. Suddenly, it seemed, as he felt her glance take him in, all his assurance and sense of right in the situation oozed away. He wore his old rider’s clothes, and never had they seemed so dirty and ragged as now. What a sorry figure he must cut in contrast to this handsome Hatfield, or the boys who had put on their best for the occasion. Cal felt the blood rise to his temples.
“Mr. Bid Hatfield, if it were a matter of choice, I’d much rather go with you,” replied the girl, sweetly. “But as my sister sent him to get me I can only——”
“Pardon me,” interrupted Cal, curtly. “I’m glad to get out of takin’ you. But I advise you to go with my cousin Wess. For if you go with Hatfield you will not be