n invalid! That's all I got to say!" He wheeled about, and
aimed at the door that led to the open air. At that instant "Red" Giddings,
the husky young foreman, appeared directly in his path, his shock of fiery
hair like an aureole about his head. "Git out o' my way!" Uncle Henry
yelled. "Gol darn the gol darn luck, anyhow!"

And through years of practice he shot into the yard as straight as an
arrow.

CHAPTER IV

WHEREIN "RED" REVEALS HIS HEART, AND MRS. QUINN GIVES HIM GOOD COFFEE AND
GOOD ADVICE

"Red" Giddings had been on the ranch with Gilbert since the very beginning.
He came from the North with the young man, willing to stake all on this one
venture. Like young Jones, he was not afraid. He was an efficient,
well-set-up young fellow, with three consuming passions: Arizona, his
harmonica, and Angela Hardy. The first saw a lot of "Red"; the second
touched his lips frequently; but as for Angela--well, perhaps the poor boy
kissed his harmonica so often in order to forget her lips. But if his own
music charmed "Red," it failed to have that effect upon
others--particularly Uncle Henry, who went into a rage whenever he heard
the detested instrument. "Red's" music had no charms to soothe the savage
breast of Henry Smith.

But another did like it. Angela once told "Red" in the moonlight--and her
father had never forgiven her for her foolishness--that his harmonica never
wearied her. That was enough for "Red." Once every day he managed to find
some excuse to get over to the Hardy ranch; and always his beloved
instrument went along with him in his pocket, and he would approach his
lady love's castle like the troubadours of old, his foot tapping on the
path while his harmonica, in the place of a lute, made soft sounds.
Instantly Angela would poke her pretty head from the window, and pretend
that she was a princess in distress, and he her knight who had come to
release her from her prison.

Moreover, the Hardys had a wonderful cook--a woman they had brought down
from Phoenix. Instead of the firecracker stuff that Uncle Henry so
bitterly complained of, she, being an Irish woman, could concoct a stew
that would make one's hair curl; and her pastry was succulent and sweet,
and literally melted in the mouth. Her coffee--ah! who could make better
coffee? And as the meals at the Jones ranch were served sporadically, and
"Red" was as healthy as a peasant and had never known the time when he
couldn't tuck away some daint