ck where it belongs or I'll take it away from you an' make you eat it!
You hear me!"

The pistol went back; Masten's face was ashen beneath the mud on it.

"Now grin, you sufferin' shorthorn!" came the rider's voice again, low as
before. "Grin like you'd just discovered that I'm your rich uncle come
from Frisco with a platter full of gold nuggets which I'm set on you
spendin' for white shirts. Grin, or I'll salivate you!"

It was a grin that wreathed Masten's lips--a shallow, forced one. But it
sufficed for the rider. He sat erect, his six-shooter disappearing
magically, and the smile on his face when he looked at the girl, had
genuine mirth in it.

"I've apologized to Willard, ma'am," he said. "We ain't goin' to be cross
to each other no more. I reckon you c'n forgive me, now, ma'am. I sure
didn't think of bein' mean."

The girl looked doubtfully at Masten, but because of the mud on his face
could see no expression.

"Well, I'm glad of that," she said, reddening with embarrassment. "I
certainly would not like to think that anyone who had been so
accommodating as you could be so mean as to deliberately upset anyone in
the mud." She looked downward. "I'm sorry I spoke to you as I did," she
added.

"Why, I'm sorry too, ma'am," he said gravely. He urged his pony through
the mud and brought it to a halt beside her. "If you'd shake hands on
that, ma'am, I'd be mighty tickled."

Her hand went out to him. He took it and pressed it warmly, looking at
it, marveling at it, for the glove on it could not conceal its
shapeliness or its smallness. He dropped it presently, and taking off his
hat, bowed to her.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said; "I'll be seein' you ag'in some time. I hope
you'll like it here."

"I am sure I shall."

He grinned and turned away. Her voice halted him.

"May I know who has been so kind to us in our trouble?"

He reddened to the roots of his hair, but faced her.

"Why, I reckon you'll know, ma'am. I'm King Randerson, foreman of the
Diamond H, up the crick a ways. That is," he added, his blush deepening,
"I was christened 'King.' But a while ago a dago professor who stayed
overnight at the Diamond H tipped the boys off that 'King' was Rex in
Latin lingo. An' so it's been Rex Randerson since then, though mostly
they write it '_W-r-e-c-k-s_.' There's no accountin' for notions
hereabouts, ma'am."

"Well, I should think not!" said the lady, making mental note of the
blueness of his eyes. "But I am