actically. "She's out of her head--or she was when I found her. But
I reckon that's mostly scare, from being lost all night. Give her a
good sweat, why don't you?" He reached the doorstep and then turned
back to add, "She left a grip back somewhere along the road. I'll go
hunt it up, I reckon."

He mounted John Doe and rode down to the corral, where two or three
riders were killing time on various pretexts while they waited for
details of Lone's adventure. Delirious young women of the silk
stocking class did not arrive at the Sawtooth every morning, and it was
rumoured already amongst the men that she was some looker, which
naturally whetted their interest in her.

"I'll bet it's one of Bob's girls, come trailin' him up. Mebby another
of them heart-ballum cases of Bob's," hazarded Pop Bridgers, who read
nothing unless it was printed on pink paper, and who refused to believe
that any good could come out of a city. "Ain't that right, Loney?
Hain't she a heart-ballum girl of Bob's?"

From the saddle Lone stared down impassively at Pop and Pop's
companions. "I don't know a thing about her," he stated emphatically.
"She said she was coming to the ranch, and she was scared of the
thunder and lightning. That's every word of sense I could get outa
her. She ain't altogether ignorant--she knows how to climb on a horse,
anyway, and she kicked about having to ride sideways on account of her
skirts. She was plumb out of her head, and talked wild, but she
handled her reins like a rider. And she never mentioned Bob, nor
anybody else excepting some fellow she called Charlie. She thought I
was him, but she only talked to me friendly. She didn't pull any love
talk at all."

"Charlie?" Pop ruminated over a fresh quid of tobacco. "Charlie!
Mebby Bob, he stakes himself to a different name now and then. There
ain't any Charlie, except Charlie Werner; she wouldn't mean him, do yuh
s'pose?"

"Charlie Werner? Hunh! Say, Pop, she ain't no squaw--is she, Loney?"
Sid Sterling remonstrated.

"If I can read brands," Lone testified, "she's no girl of Bob's. She's
a good, honest girl when she ain't crazy."

"And no good, honest girl who is not crazy could possibly be a girl of
mine! Is that the idea, Lone?"

Lone turned unhurriedly and looked at young Bob Warfield standing in
the stable door with his hands in his trousers pockets and his pipe in
his mouth.

"That ain't the argument. Pop, here, was wondering if she wa