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.  I lived in Sonora several years.”

“That accounts for your wonderful descriptions of the country.  I never imagined it could be so charming.”

“We have some hill country west of here worth looking at.  If you intend to stay any length of time, I might arrange a trip.”

“That’s nice of you.  But I don’t ride.  Perhaps Alice would like to go.”

“Yes, indeed!  But—­”

“We might get Mrs. Adams to come.  She used to ride.”

“I’ll ask her,” said Alice Weston.

“But, Alice—­” And Mrs. Weston smiled.  Alice had already gone to look for Mrs. Adams.

Lorry, who had heard, scowled at a veranda post.  He had thought of that trip to the Horseshoe Range long before it had been mentioned by his father.  Wimmin made him tired, he told the unoffending post.

Shortly afterward Alice appeared.  She had cajoled Mrs. Adams into promising that she would ride to the Hopi ruins with them, as the journey there and back could be made in a day.  Alice Weston was aglow with excitement.  Of course the young cowboy would be included in the invitation, and Alice premeditated a flirtation, either with that good-looking Mr. Waring or Mrs. Adams’s son.  It didn’t matter much which one; it would be fun.

The Westons finally went to their rooms.  Lorry, out of sorts with himself and the immediate world, was left alone on the veranda.

“She just acted so darned nice to me I forgot to eat,” he told the post confidentially.  “And then she forgot I was livin’ in the same county—­after supper.  And she did it a-purpose.  I reckon she’s tryin’ to even up with me for jailin’ that hobo after she said ‘please.’  Well, two can play at that even-up game.”

He rose and walked upstairs quietly.  As he entered his room he heard the Westons talking.  He had noticed that the door of one of their rooms was open.

“No, I think he went away with that tall man,” he heard the girl say.  “Cowboys don’t go to bed early when in town.”

“Weren’t you a little too nice to him at dinner?” Mrs. Weston said.

Lorry heard the girl laugh.  “Oh, but he’s only a boy, mother!  And it’s such fun to watch his eyes when he smiles.  He is really good-looking and interesting, because he hasn’t been tamed.  I don’t think he has any real feeling, though, or he wouldn’t have brought that poor creature to Stacey and put him in jail.  But Mr. Waring is different.  He seems so quiet and kind—­and rather distinguished.”