tly.

"And I'll just block her up and take off the wheel, and I reckon the
blacksmith can straighten that axle easy."

"It's very nice of you. But I am wondering why you didn't go on the
picnic--with the others."

"Well, who'd 'a' kept you company, ma'am? Anita, she's busy. Anyhow, I
seen plenty of scenery. I'd rather be here."

"Talking to a woman old enough to be your mother?"

"Huh! I never thought of you like that. I'm only eighteen. Anyhow, what
difference does it make how old a lady is, if she is pretty?"

Mrs. Weston's eyes twinkled. "Do you ever pay compliments to yourself
when you are combing your hair or tying your scarf?"

"Me! Why, not so anybody could hear 'em. Now, I think my mother is right
pretty, Mrs. Weston."

"So do I. And it was nice of you to say it."

"But I don't see anything wrong in sayin' what's so," he argued. "I seen
you kind of raise your eyebrows, and I thought mebby I was bein' took as
a joke."

"Oh, no, indeed!"

Lorry disappeared again. As he worked he wondered just how long it would
be before Buck Hardy would look for him. Lorry knew that some one must
have taken food and water to the prisoner by this time, or to where the
prisoner was supposed to be. But he did not know that Hardy and his
deputy had questioned Anita, and that she had told the sheriff the folks
had all gone on a picnic to the hills. The car, at the back of the
hotel, was not visible from the street.

With some pieces of timber Lorry jacked up the front of the machine and
removed the damaged wheel and axle.

He took the bent axle to the blacksmith, and returned to the hotel.
Nothing further offered just then, so he suggested that he clean the
car. Mrs. Weston consented, deciding that she would not pay him until
her daughter returned.

He attached the hose to a faucet, and suggested that Mrs. Weston take a
chair, which he brought from the veranda. He hosed the car, and as he
polished it, Mrs. Weston asked him about Waring.

"Why, he's a friend of ours," replied Lorry.

"Of course. But I was wondering what he did."

Lorry hesitated. "Didn't you ever hear that song about Waring of
Sonora-Town? It's a whizzer. Well, that's him. All the cowboys sing that
song."

"I have never heard it."

"Well, mebby dad wouldn't like that I sing it. He's kind of funny that
way. Now you wouldn't think he was the fastest gunman in the Southwest,
would you?"

"Gunman! Your father?"

Lorry straightened up from polish