Cal’s bewildered glance caught a glimpse of slender, shapely, black-stockinged legs before it flashed back to her face.

“Mr. Driver, you said there was someone to meet me,” she spoke up, in a sweet, high-pitched voice.

“Shore thar is, judgin’ from appearances,” laughed Jake, looking up from his task with the mail bags. His bronzed face wrinkled with a smile. “An’ if thar wasn’t, miss, you’d hev no call for worry. Wait till I carry in these mail bags.”

She did not appear in the least embarrassed or concerned in any way, except somewhat curious and interested. Manifestly she expected someone of the group to step forward, and looked from one to another. Arizona began to thaw under the sweet expectation of that look, but the others remained frozen.

Then Hatfield came out of the store, bareheaded, his sombrero in hand, and his handsome bold face pleasantly alight.

“Miss, I reckon you’re the young lady I’m lookin’ for,” he said, easily, as he towered over her.

“I’m Miss Georgiana May Stockwell,” she said, with a flashing look, taking him in from heated face to spurred boots.

Cal Thurman’s strained attention broke. He fell back against the seat of the car. “By Heaven!” he whispered. “I understand teacher now. She put this job up on me. That—that girl’s her sister—the sister I’m supposed to meet.” Shocked out of his equilibrium, compelled to face an exigency vastly different from the one he had dreaded, beginning to thrill and tingle with a strange dawning exultation, Cal could only sit there and stare and listen.

Manifestly Miss Georgiana expected Hatfield to introduce himself, and her manner was one of pleased anticipation. She liked the looks of this Arizonian. Hatfield, however, did not seem disposed to tell his name; and his manner, though bold and assured, showed something of awkwardness. Either he was not quick-witted enough for the situation or he had not judged Miss Stockwell correctly. She seemed swift to grasp something strange in his omission or in what might be the brusque way of Westerners, and she lost a little of her self-possession. Her sophistication was not very old or deep.

“Come over to the garage with me an’ I’ll put you in a car,” said Hatfield, and gathering up several of her bags he started down the porch steps.

“Thank you—I’ll wait here,” replied the young lady, hesitatingly, and she watched him depart. Then Wess Thurman stepped forward to address her.

“Miss Stockwell,” he began, with an earnestness that precluded embarrassment, “shore if you go with Bid Hatfield you’ll never be welcome at the Thurman ranch.”

She stared up at the tall lean-faced rider, and it was plain now that something seemed wrong to her.

“What am I up against?” she queried, tartly. “How do I know who Bid Hatfield is? He appeared to be the only gentleman to notice that I am a stranger and alone. Besides, he said he was looking for me. I took him to be Mr. Cal Thurman.”

“Wal, you’re shore mistaken, an’ Cal won’t be flattered,” replied the rider. “I’m Wess Thurman, an’ we—us heah—thet is I—I come to meet you an’ take you to your sister.”

Manifest indeed was the line of demarkation where Wess passed from loyal sincerity to a personal deceit. His big hand tugged at the evident tight band of his flannel shirt at the neck. And the shade of paleness which had come into his face at the effrontery of Hatfield changed to a dusky red.

Miss Georgiana eyed Wess dubiously, and her thoughts must have been varying and bewildering, until she gathered something of the truth of the situation. Not improbably this contretemps was not new to her, except in its Arizona setting and the individuality of these riders.

“I was told down the road that Mr. Cal Thurman telephoned he would meet me,” she said. “Where is he?”

“Wal, miss—you see,” floundered Wess, trying to arise to his opportunity, “Cal’s only a boy—an’ he was takin’ a lot on himself. Now I’m a-goin’ to take you out to Green Valley Ranch.”

“You are very kind,” replied Georgiana, sweetly. “Did my sister Mary send you to meet me?”

“Wal, I reckon—not jest that—but we—the boys—I mean I said I’d shore see you home safe,” replied Wess, swallowing hard.

Miss Georgiana gazed roguishly up at him, and then at Arizona, who was edging closer, and then at Pan Handle and Tim Matthews, now showing signs of animation.

“We fetched the—big car,” said Arizona, breathlessly.