subject with the
ease of experience, yet lightly enough to avoid wearisome
technicalities. The girl listened, occasionally stealing a glance at the
man's profile in the dusk. She thought the boy Lorry looked exceedingly
like Mr. Waring.

And the person who looked exceedingly like Mr. Waring sat at the far end
of the veranda, talking to Buck Hardy, the sheriff. And Lorry was not
altogether happy. His interest in the capture and reward had waned. He
had never dreamed that a girl could be so captivating as Alice Weston.
At supper she had talked with him about the range, asking many
questions; but she had not referred to that morning. Lorry had hoped
that he might talk with her after supper. But somehow or other she had
managed to evade his efforts. Just now she seemed to be mightily
interested in his father.

Presently Lorry rose and strode across the street to the station. He
talked with the agent, who showed him a telegraph duplicate for an order
on Albuquerque covering a steering-knuckle for an automobile. When Lorry
reappeared he was whistling. It would take some time for that
steering-knuckle to arrive. Meanwhile, he was out of work, and the
Westons would be at the hotel for several days at least.

There was some mighty fine scenery back in the Horseshoe Range, west.
Perhaps the girl liked Western scenery. He wondered if she knew how to
ride. He was rather inclined to think that her mother did not. He would
suggest a trip to the Horseshoe Mountains, as it would be pretty dull at
the hotel. Nothing but cowboys and Indians riding in and out of town.
But there were some Hopi ruins over in the Horseshoe. Most Easterners
were interested in ruins. He wished that the Hopis had left a ruin
somewhat nearer town.

Yet withal, Lorry was proud to think that his father could be so
interesting to real Easterners. If they only knew who his father was!
Lorry's train of thought was making pretty good time when he checked it
suddenly. Folks in town didn't know that Waring was his father. And "The
whole dog-gone day had just been one gosh-awful mess!"

"Weston, you said?" Waring queried.

"Yes--John Archibald Weston, of New York." And Mrs. Weston nodded.

Waring smiled. J.A. Weston was one of the stockholders in the Ortez
Mine, near Sonora.

"The principal stockholder," said Mrs. Weston.

"I met him down there," said Waring.

"Indeed! How interesting! You were connected with the mining industry,
Mr. Waring?"

"In a way.