She wanted to laugh, but wisely refrained. "I'm very sorry," was
what she said.
He stared in silence as he slowly picked himself from the ground.
His red hair rose like the quills of a porcupine above a face
that had the appearance of being unfinished. Neither nose nor
mouth nor chin seemed to be quite definite enough.
She choked down her gayety and offered renewed apologies.
"I was going for a doc," he explained, by way of opening his
share of the conversation.
"Then perhaps you had better jump in with me and ride back to the
Lazy D. I suppose that's where you came from?"
He scratched his vivid head helplessly. "Yes, ma'am."
"Then jump in."
"I was going to Bear Creek, ma'am," he added dubiously.
"How far is it?"
"'Bout twenty-five miles, and then some."
"You don't expect to walk, do you?"
"No; I allowed--"
"I'll take you back to the ranch, where you can get another
horse."
"I reckon, ma'am, I'd ruther walk."
"Nonsense! Why?"
"I ain't used to them gas wagons."
"It's quite safe. There is nothing to be afraid of."
Reluctantly he got in beside her, as happy as a calf in a
branding pen.
"Are you the lady that sashaid off with Ned Bannister?" he asked
presently, after he had had time to smother successively some of
his fear, wonder and delight at their smooth, swift progress.
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