LAURA. [Turning toward WILL and going to him, slipping her hand involuntarily through his arm, and looking eagerly with him over the balustrade in almost girlish enthusiasm.] Do you like him?

WILL. [Smiling.] I don’t know him.

LAURA.  Well, do you think you’ll like him?

WILL.  Well, I hope I’ll like him.

LAURA.  Well, if you hope you’ll like him you ought to think you like him.  He’ll turn the corner of that rock in just a minute and then you can see him.  Do you want to see him?

WILL. [Almost amused at her girlish manner.] Why, yes—­do you?

LAURA.  Do I?  Why, I haven’t seen him since last night!  There he is. [Waves her hand.] Hello, John!

[Gets candy-box, throws pieces of candy at JOHN.

JOHN. [His voice very close now.] Hello, girlie!  How’s everything?

LAURA.  Fine!  Do hurry.

JOHN.  Just make this horse for a minute.  Hurry is not in his dictionary.

LAURA.  I’m coming down to meet you.

JOHN.  All—­right.

LAURA. [Turns quickly to WILL.] You don’t care.  You’ll wait, won’t you?

WILL.  Surely.

LAURA hurriedly exits. WILL goes down centre of the stage.  After a short interval LAURA comes in, more like a sixteen-year-old girl than anything else, pulling JOHN after her.  He is a tall, finely built type of Western manhood, a frank face, a quick, nervous energy, a mind that works like lightning, a prepossessing smile, and a personality that is wholly captivating.  His clothes are a bit dusty from the ride, but are not in the least pretentious, and his leggins are of canvas and spurs of brass, such as are used in the Army.  His hat is off, and he is pulled on to the stage, more like a great big boy than a man.  His hair is a bit tumbled, and he shows every indication of having had a rather long and hard ride.

LAURA.  Hello, John!

JOHN.  Hello, girlie!

Then she suddenly recovers herself and realizes the position she is in.  Both men measure each other for a moment in silence, neither flinching the least bit.  The smile has faded from JOHN’S face, and the mouth droops into an expression of firm determination. LAURA for a moment loses her ingenuousness.  She is the least bit frightened at finally placing the two men face to face, and in a voice that trembles slightly from apprehension: 

LAURA.  Oh, I beg your pardon!  Mr. Madison, this is Mr. Brockton, a friend of mine from New York.  You’ve often heard me speak of him; he came out here to keep me company when I go home.

JOHN. [Comes forward, extends a hand, looking WILL right in the eye.] I am very glad to know you, Mr. Brockton.

WILL.  Thank you.

JOHN.  I’ve heard a great deal about you and your kindness to Miss Murdock.  Anything that you have done for her in a spirit of friendliness I am sure all her friends must deeply appreciate, and I count myself in as one.