n came close to the wagon and paused in an
attitude of quiet impudence.

"I reckon you're Ruth Harkness--the ol' man's niece?" he said.

"Yes," returned the girl, smiling. Perhaps she had misjudged these men.

"Well," said the man, looking at her with a bold glance that made her
pulse skip a beat, "you're a stunner for looks, anyway." He reached out
his hand. She took it, feeling that it was the proper thing to do,
although with the action she heard a grumble from Masten.

"You're welcome to the Flyin' W," said the man, breaking an awkward
silence. "Tom Chavis is special glad to see a pretty woman around these
parts."

She felt, in his eyes more than his words, a veiled significance. She
reddened a little, but met his gaze fairly, her eyes unwavering.

"Who is Tom Chavis?" she asked.

"I'm reckonin' to be Tom Chavis," he said, studying her. He waved a hand
toward the other man, not looking at him. "This is my friend Jim Pickett.
We was foreman an' straw boss, respective, under Bill Harkness."

She could not help wishing that her uncle had discharged the two men
before his death. She was wondering a little at Masten's silence; it
seemed to her that he must see her embarrassment, and that he might
relieve her of the burden of this conversation. She looked quickly at
him; he appeared to be unconcernedly inspecting the ranchhouse. Perhaps,
after all, there was nothing wrong with these men. Certainly, being a man
himself, Masten should be able to tell.

And so she felt a little more at ease.

"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Chavis," she said. "Your friend Mr. Pickett
too." She indicated Masten with a nod of her head toward him. "This is
Mr. Willard Masten, a very dear friend of mine." The color in her face
deepened with the words.

Chavis had looked twice at Masten before Ruth spoke. He looked again now,
meeting the Easterner's eyes. Chavis had been ready to sneer at Masten
because of his garments--they were duplicates of those he had worn before
the ducking, and quite as immaculate--but something in the Easterner's
eyes kept the sneer back; his own eyes gleamed with a quick,
comprehensive fire, and he smiled. In the buckboard, fresh from that
civilization which Chavis was ready to scorn, he had recognized a kindred
spirit. There was exultation in his voice when he spoke, and he reached
over Ruth to grasp Masten's hand.

"An' so this is Willard, a very dear friend of yourn, eh? Well, now, I'm
sure glad, an' I reckon