“That was nothin’.”

“It meant a great deal to us.  Is that your horse—­the one standing alone over there?”

“Yes, ma’am.  That’s Gray Leg.”

“I remember him.  I couldn’t ever forget that morning—­but I don’t want to hinder your work.  I see you are mending something.”

“Just fittin’ a new pad to this pack-saddle.  I was figurin’ to light out to-morrow.”

“So soon?  That’s too bad.  But, then, we can visit at dinner this evening.  Dorothy said she expected you.  I believe it is almost ready.”

“I don’t know, Miss Weston.  It’s like this—­”

“And I know Mr. Bronson meant to ask you.  He has been quite busy.  Perhaps he forgot.”

“He—­”

“So I am here as ambassador.  Will I do?”

“Why, sure!  But—­”

“And mother would be so disappointed if you didn’t come.  So should I, especially as you are leaving to-morrow.  What is it they say in Mexico, ‘Adios’?  I must run back.”

She proffered her hand gracefully.  Lorry shook hands with her.  She gave his fingers a little, lingering squeeze that set his pulses racing.  She was a mighty pretty girl.

“We shall expect you,” she called, halfway to the cabin.

And she sure could change a fellow’s mind for him without half trying.  She hadn’t given him a chance to refuse her invitation.  She just knew that he was coming to supper.  And so did he.

Alice Weston held Lorry’s attention from the beginning, as she had intended.  She was gowned in some pale-green material touched here and there with a film of lace.  Lorry was fascinated by her full, rounded arms, her beautifully strong wrists, and by the way in which she had arranged her heavy, dark hair.  In the daylight that afternoon he had noticed that her eyes were blue.  He had thought them brown.  But they were the color of wood violets untouched by the sun.  While she lacked the positive outdoor coloring of Dorothy, her complexion was radiant with youth and health.  Lorry felt subdued, disinclined to talk despite Dorothy’s obvious attempts to be entertaining.  He realized that Dorothy was being exceedingly nice to him, although he knew that she was a little high-strung and nervous that evening.

After dinner Bronson and Lorry smoked out on the veranda.  When the others came out, Bronson suggested that they have some music.  Lorry promptly invited them to his cabin.

“Alice plays wonderfully,” said Dorothy.

Bronson, talking with Mrs. Weston, enjoyed himself.  He had been isolated so long that news from the “outside” interested him.

Lorry, gravely attentive to the playing, happened to glance up.  Dorothy was gazing at him with a most peculiar expression.  He flushed.  He had not realized that he had been staring at Alice Weston; at her round, white throat and graceful arms.  But just then she ceased playing.

“Have you any music that you would like?” she asked Lorry.