aste."

Ben turned toward the house. "All right. I'll see that he's over here
bright and early."

The visitor found the interior of the Baker home looking like a corner
in a storage warehouse. Florence, in a big checked apron reaching to her
chin, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was busily engaged in still
further dismantling the once cosey parlor. Amidst the confusion, and
apparently a part of it, Mrs. Baker wandered aimlessly about. The front
door was wide open, letting in a stream of sunlight.

"Good-morning," said Ben, appearing in the doorway.

Mrs. Baker stopped long enough to nod, and Florence looked up from her
work.

"Good-morning," she replied. A deliberate glance took in the new-comer's
dress from head to foot, and lingered on the exposed revolver hilt. "Are
you hunting Indians or bear?"

Ben Blair returned the look, even more deliberately.

"Bear, I judge from the question. I came in search of you."

There was no answer, and the man came in and sat down on the corner of
a box. "You seem to be very busy," he said.

The girl went on with her packing. "Yes, rather busy," she said
indifferently.

Ben dangled one long leg over the side of the box.

"Are you too busy to take a ride with me? I want to talk with you."

"I'm pretty busy," non-committally.

"Suppose I should ask it as a favor?"

"Suppose I should decline?"

The long leg stopped its swinging. "You wouldn't, though."

The girl's brown eyes flashed. "How do you know I wouldn't?"

Ben stood up and folded his arms. "Because it would be the first favor I
ever asked of you, and you wouldn't refuse that."

They eyed each other a moment.

"Where do you want to go?" temporized Florence.

"Anywhere, so it's with you."

"You don't want to stay long?"

"I'll come back whenever you say."

Florence rolled down her sleeves and sighed with assumed regret. "I
ought to stay here and work."

"I'll help you when we come back, if you like."

"Very well." She said it hesitatingly.

"All right. I'll get your horse ready for you."

Scotty watched them peculiarly, Molly doubtfully, as they rode out of
the ranch yard; but neither made any comment, and they moved away in
silence.

"That's an odd looking pony you've got there," remarked the girl
critically, when they had turned into the half-beaten trail which led
south. "How does it happen you're on him instead of the other?"

Ben patted the smooth neck before him, and the pony twitched