Cal, who preferred the outdoors, had slept in a little log bunkhouse of one room, which he had erected himself. With a knowing smile Cal passed the boys at the long table and proceeded to a bench against the log wall, where he filled a basin with water and vigorously washed face and hands. In fact, he splashed so violently and shook his tousled wet head so vehemently that he dashed water clear to the table.

“Hey, air you a whale blowin’?” complained Pan Handle.

“Naw, he’s only coolin’ off his haid,” observed Tim.

Cal went about his morning ablutions without paying any attention to his tormentors; and he broke his rule of shaving only once a week. This appeared to be of exceeding interest to the boys.

“Say, he’s shavin’,” ejaculated Arizona, as if that simple action was astounding.

“Got on his Sunday jeans, too,” observed Wess. “Reckon he wants to look handsome.”

“Wal, he never could—no matter what a dude he makes of himself,” added Pan Handle.

“Rarin’ to go!” exclaimed Tim, mockingly.

When Cal finally turned to the breakfast table the others had almost finished eating. Cal called into the kitchen: “Mother, won’t you or Molly bring me somethin’ to eat? These hawgs out here have grazed like sheep across a pasture.”

“Cal,” replied his mother, “you oughta get up in the mawnin’.”

Then his sister Molly appeared, carrying several smoking dishes which she set down before him. She was a wholesome-looking girl of about seventeen, unmistakably a Thurman in features.

“Cal, can I go to town with you?” she asked, appealingly.

“I should say not,” he replied.

“But I want to buy some things,” she protested.

“I’ll buy them for you,” replied Cal.

“Miss Stockwell left a list of things she wants.”

“All right. Has she gone to school?”

“Yes. She went with father in the buckboard. She wanted to see you, but you weren’t up. Said goodbye and you weren’t to forget what she told you about meeting Georgiana.”

“Now, Molly, cain’t you see there ain’t any danger of Cal’s forgettin’ his date with George-anner?” put in Wess, facetiously.

Then Cal began his breakfast in silence, aware of the bland observance of his comrades, and he did not waste any time eating. Pushing back his empty plate, he looked square at them.

“Not ridin’ today, huh?” he queried.

“Nope,” replied Wess, laconically.

“Nor tacklin’ any of the lot of work that ought to be done?”

“Nope.”

“Goin’ huntin’ with the dogs, maybe?”

“Reckon it’s too dry an’ hot to hunt. But I’m shore goin’ soon as it rains an’ gets cooler. Lots of bear this fall. An’ a world of acorns up on the high ridges.”

“Well, what are you goin’ to do today?” deliberately questioned Cal.

“Reckon I’m takin’ a day off,” said Wess, serenely.

“Goin’ to Ryson?” went on Cal, grimly.

“Shore. There ain’t any excitement round heah. An’ I’ve got a world of stuff to buy. Tobacco an’ horseshoes an’ cartridges, an’—”

“I’ll buy your stuff,” cut in Cal.

“Couldn’t think of trustin’ you,” returned Wess, blandly. “Besides, I want to see Angie.”

“She’s not home, an’ you know it,” rejoined Cal. Then he directed his gaze at Pan Handle Ames. “Reckon you’ve important reasons to show up in Ryson—huh?”

“Cal, I jest naturally got to go. There’s a lot—”

“Bah!” interrupted Cal as he rose to his feet, shoving the bench seat backwards. He did not need to hear more subterfuge or question Arizona or Tim. They were too casual, too unnaturally uninterested. He judged the enormity of their machinations by the singular blankness of their faces.

“Goin’ to ride in on horseback?” concluded Cal, with a last glimpse of hopelessness.

“Nope. We’re takin’ the big car,” said Wess. “You see, Uncle Henry wants flour, grain, an’ a lot of supplies he ordered an’ needs bad. Oh, we’ll have a load comin’ back.”

“I wanted the big car,” retorted Cal, hotly. “Didn’t father know I was goin’ to meet a lady?”

“I reckon he did, for when we told him how bad we needed it to fetch back all the stuff, he said you could drive the Ford,” replied Wess, with a composure that indicated supreme self-control.

“An’ father’s gone with the buckboard!” ejaculated Cal, almost showing distress.

“Yes, he’s drivin’ teacher to school, an’ then he’s goin’ to Hiram Bowes’.”

“Cal, seein’ what a meekanik you air an’ how you can drive, it seems to us heah thet you’ll go along in the Ford like a turkey sailin’ downhill,” said Pan Handle Ames, with astounding kindliness and admiration.

Just then Tim doubled up and began to cough violently. Plain indeed were his heroic efforts to control mirth.