“Go on!” applauded Constance.  “Who besides us and poor old dad?”

Tom Osby turned and looked at her gravely.

“And there comes down to meet us at the station,” he concluded, “the only man we needed to help us put this thing through.”  Tom Osby finished his tea in silence.  Constance herself made no comment.  Her gaze was on the far-off mountains.

“That there man,” he resumed, shaking out the grounds from his tea-cup, “is the new division counsel for the road, the first mayor of Heart’s Desire,—­after Miss Constance,—­and mighty likely the next Congressional delergate from this Territory.  Now can you both guess who that man is?”

“I’ll admit he’s a bigger man than Barkley,” said Ellsworth, slowly.  “That boy would make a grand trial lawyer.  They couldn’t beat him.”

“No,” said Tom Osby, “they’d think he was square, and that means a lot.  They do think he’s square; and the boys are goin’ to do something for him if they can.  Now if he gets back—­”

Constance turned upon him with a glance of swift appeal.

“As I was sayin’, when he gets back,” resumed Tom, “some of us fellers may perhaps take it up with him, and tell him what Miss Constance wants to have done.”

This was too much.  The girl sprang to her feet.  “You’ll tell him nothing!” she cried.

Ellsworth turned to Tom Osby with a sober face.  “Young Anderson rode away from us the other morning,” said he, “and he hardly troubled himself to say good-by.  We used to know him back East; and he needn’t have taken that affair of the railroad meeting so much to heart.”

“Come!” called Constance, “get ready and let’s be going.  I’m sick of this country!” She walked rapidly away from the others.

“A woman can change some sudden, can’t she, Mr. Ellsworth?” remarked Tom Osby, slowly.

“Look here, Miss Constance,” said he, presently, when he came nearer to her, standing apart from the wagon, “there’s been mistakes and busted plans enough in here already.  Now don’t get on no high horse and break up my scheme.”

“Don’t talk to me!” She stamped her foot.

“Ma’am! ain’t you ashamed to say them words?” She did not answer, and Tom Osby took the step for which he had been preparing throughout the entire morning.

“Ma’am,” said he, “one word from you would bring that feller to you on the keen lope.  He’d fix the railroad all right mighty soon.  Then besides—­”

She turned away.  “The question of the railroad is a business one, and nothing else; talk to my father about it.”

Tom went silently about his preparations for resuming the journey.  When he came to put the horses to the wagon tongue, he found Constance sitting there, staring with misty eyes at the distant hills beyond which lay Heart’s Desire.  Tom Osby paused at the shelter of the wagon cover and backed away.

“Something has got to be did,” he muttered to himself, “and did mighty blame quick.  If we don’t get some kind of hobbles on that girl, she’s goin’ to jump the fence and go back home.”