For she herself had closed the gate and locked it fast.

His low voice soothed and comforted her.

"I'm all right," she told him.

Clay withdrew his arm. "I'd report that fellow if I had his number,"
he said. "You stick to yore saddle fine. You're one straight-up
rider."

"I'll ask Mr. Bromfield to give you fifty dollars' again," she laughed
nervously.

That word _again_ stuck in his consciousness.

"You've known me all along," he charged.

"Of course I've known you--knew you when you stood on the steps after
you had tied the janitor."

"I knew you, too."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"Did you expect me to make that grand-stand play on the _parada_ a
claim on yore kindness? I didn't do a thing for you that day any man
wouldn't have done. I happened to be the lucky fellow that got the
chance. That's all. Come to that, it was up to you to do the
recognizing if any was done. I had it worked out that you didn't know
me, but once or twice from things you said I almost thought you did."

"I meant to tell you sometime, but--well, I wanted to see how long you
could keep from telling me. Now you've done it again."

"I'd like to ride with you the rest of yore life," he said unexpectedly.

They trembled on the edge of self-revelation. It was the girl who
rescued them from the expression of their emotions.

"I'll speak to Clary about it. Maybe he'll take you on as a groom,"
she said with surface lightness.

As soon as they reached home Beatrice led the way into the library.
Bromfield was sitting there with her father. They were talking over
plans for the annual election of officers of the Bird Cage Mining
Company. Whitford was the largest stockholder and Bromfield owned the
next biggest block. They controlled it between them.

"Dad, Rob Roy bolted and Mr. Lindsay stopped him before I was thrown."

Whitford rose, the color ebbing from his cheeks. "I've always told you
that brute was dangerous. I'll offer him for sale to-day."

"And I've discovered that we know the man who saved me from the wild
steer in Arizona. It was Mr. Lindsay."

"Lindsay!" Whitford turned to him. "Is that right?"

"It's correct."

Colin Whitford, much moved, put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"Son, you know what I'd like to tell you. I reckon I can't say it
right."

"We'll consider it said, Mr. Whitford," answered Clay with his quick,
boyish smile. "No use in spillin' a lot of dictionary words."

"Why didn'