ps and the edge of the little toy
lake was a summer-house grown over with vines, its broad doorway
opening toward Conniston. And sitting within its shade, a book in her
lap, her gray eyes raised gravely to meet his, was the girl he had
seen on the Overland Limited. Conniston rode along a graveled walk
toward her, his hat in his hand.

"Good morning," she said, as he drew in his horse near her. "Won't you
get down?"

"Good morning."

He swung to the ground with no further invitation, his horse's reins
over his arm.

His eyes were as grave as hers, and he was glad, glad that he had
ridden here through the desert.

"You came to see my father?"

Conniston colored slightly. Why had he come? What was he going to do
now that he was here? How should he seek to explain? He hesitated a
moment, and then answered, slowly:

"I am afraid that my reasons for coming at all are too complicated to
be told. You see, we just got off the train in Indian Creek out of
idle curiosity to see what the desert country was like. We're from New
York. And then we rode out toward the hills. One of your father's men
overtook us there, and, as he was coming this way and as we were
anxious to see the cattle-country and--" he broke off, smiling. "You
see, it is hard to make it sound sensible. We just came!"

She looked up at him, a little puzzled frown in her eyes.

"You have friends with you?"

"One friend. He was pretty well tuckered out, and the red-headed
gentleman who calls himself Lonesome Pete is bringing him along in his
buckboard."

"And you have no business at all out here?"

"I _had_ none," he retorted.

"You don't know father?"

"I am sorry that I don't."

"You are going on to Crawfordsville?"

"I don't know where Crawfordsville is. Is it the nearest town?"

"Yes."

"Since I don't see how we can stay here, I suppose we'll go on to
Crawfordsville, then. That would be the best way, wouldn't it?"

"Really," she replied, quietly, "I don't see that I am in a position
to advise. If you haven't any business with my father--"

Then the buckboard drove up, and Greek Conniston devoutly wished that
he had left Roger Hapgood behind. And when he saw the radiant smile
which lightened the girl's gray eyes as they rested upon Lonesome
Pete and took notice of the wide, sweeping flourish with which the
cowboy's hat was lifted to her, he wished that the red-headed student
of Shakespeare was with Hapgood on Broadway.

CHAPTER V