e're goin' to break our necks, you piebald outlaw," the
rider said to the pony. "Well," as the animal whinnied gently at the
sound of his voice, "there's some people that do, an' if you've got any
respect for them you'll be mighty careful."

The descent was accomplished in a brief time, and then Patches and his
rider went forward toward the mired buckboard and its occupants, the pony
unconcernedly, its rider, having conquered his embarrassment, serene,
steady of eye, inwardly amused.

When he reached the water's edge he halted Patches. Sitting motionless in
the saddle, he quietly contemplated the occupants of the buckboard. He
had come to help them, but he was not going to proffer his services until
he was sure they would be welcomed. He had heard stories of the
snobbishness and independence of some Easterners.

And so he sat there long, for the occupants of the buckboard, knowing
nothing of his intentions, were in their turn awaiting some word from
him.

No word came. He looked down, interestedly watching Patches drink. Then,
when the pony had finished, he looked up, straight at the girl. She was
sitting very erect--as erect as she could in the circumstances, trying
hard to repress her anger over his inaction. She could see that he was
deliberately delaying. And she met his gaze coldly.

He looked from the girl to Willard. The Easterner was examining a small
pistol that he had drawn from a yellow holster at his waist, so high on
his waist that he had been compelled to bend his elbow in an acute angle
to get it out. His hands were trembling, whether from the wetting he had
received or from doubt as to the rider's intentions, was a question that
the rider did not bother with. He looked again at the girl. Doubt had
come into her eyes; she was looking half fearfully at him, and he saw
that she half suspected him of being a desperado, intent on doing harm.
He grinned, moved to mirth.

She was reassured; that smile had done it. She returned it, a little
ruefully. And she felt that, in view of the circumstances, she might
dispense with formalities and get right down to business. For her seat
was uncomfortable, and Aunt Martha and Uncle Jepson were anxious, to say
nothing of Willard, who had placed his pistol behind him, determined, if
the man turned out to be a highwayman, to defend his party to the last.

But still the rider did not move. There was no hurry; only Willard seemed
to be really suffering, for the winter's