For a moment he was busy turning the horses.  They had reached a second hotel, but it proved less inviting than the first, and the side streets they had crossed afforded no quiet inn, or indeed any dwelling in the shade.  “After all,” he said, “a room and bath on the north side, with windows looking up the Columbia, should make you fairly comfortable through the heat of the day.”  But the girl waited, and when his eyes fell to that open purse, his own color burned through the tan.  There was no help for it; she must know the truth.  He squared his shoulders, turning a little toward her.  “There are no expenses to share, Miss Armitage.  I—­ happened to own this team, and since we were traveling the same way, I was glad to offer you this vacant seat.”

“Do you mean you bought these horses—­outright—­at Kittitas?”

“Yes, the opportunity was too good to miss.”  He tried to brave the astonishment in her eyes, but his glance moved directly to the colts.  “And, you see, if I should buy that tract of Weatherbee’s, I am going to need a team.”

“Doubtless,” answered Miss Armitage slowly.  “Still, for breaking wild land or even cultivating, one would choose a steadier, heavier team.  But they are beauties, Mr. Tisdale, and I know a man in Seattle who is going to be disappointed.  I congratulate you on being able to secure them.”  She closed the purse at last and reluctantly put it away, and she added, with the merriment dimpling her lips:  “Fate certainly was with me yesterday.”

They had reached the hotel, and as he drew up to the curb, a man came from the lobby to hold the bays.  Several traveling salesmen stood smoking and talking outside the entrance, while a little apart a land promoter and his possible capitalist consulted a blue print; but there was a general pause as Tisdale sprang out, and the curious scrutiny of wayfarers in a small town was focussed on the arrivals.

“It looks all right,” he said quietly, helping her down, “but if you find anything wrong, or should happen to want me, I shall be at that other hotel until two o’clock.  Good-by!”

He saw the surprise in her face change to swift appreciation.  Then “Good-by,” she answered and walked towards the door.  But there she stopped.  Tisdale, looking back as he gave her suitcase to a boy, saw her lips part, though she did not speak.  Then her eyelids drooped, the color played softly in her face, and she turned to go in.  There had been no invitation in her attitude, yet he had felt a certain appeal.  It flashed over him she did not want to motor up the valley; she wished to drive on with him.  Too proud, too fine to say so, she was letting her opportunity go.  He hurried across the pavement.

“Miss Armitage,” he said, and instantly she turned; the sparkles leaped in her eyes; she came towards him a few steps and stopped expectantly.  “If I start up the valley at two”—­and he looked at his watch—­“that will be a rest of nearly three hours.  It means the heat of the day, but if it seems better than motoring over a country road with a public chauffeur, I would be glad to have you drive for me.”