Part 45 (1/2)

”Indeed, I should. If I had half your chance, I shouldn't waste a minute in claiming the mate to that glove. One glove is of absolutely no use, you know.”

”This one was--pretty much,” sighed Collie. ”I was feeling like letting go inside and not trying to--to stay any longer, just before it came.”

”S-s-s-h! Don't even think of that. Some one called on me a few days ago. You are a very fortunate young man.”

Anne Marshall's ambiguity was not altogether displeasing to Collie, in that it was not altogether unintelligible.

William Stanley Winthrop, sojourning briefly but fas.h.i.+onably in Los Angeles, appeared at the hospital in immaculate outing flannels. It was several weeks after his sister's last visit there. Winthrop took the convalescent Collie to the Moonstone Rancho in his car.

Bud Light and Billy Dime accidentally met the car in the valley and accompanied it vigorously through Moonstone Canon.

Aunt Eleanor and Walter Stone were at the gate. Collie was helped to the house and immediately taken to the guest-room. He was much fatigued with the journey. The question in his eyes was answered by Aunt Eleanor.

”Louise rode over to the north range to-day. She should be back now.”

Winthrop scarce needed an introduction. He was Anne Marshall's brother.

That was sufficient for the host and hostess. He was made welcome--as he was wherever he went. He had heard a great deal, from his sister, of the Stones, and their beautiful niece, Louise Lacharme. He was enthusiastic about the Moonstone Canon. He grew even more enthusiastic after meeting Louise.

She came riding her black pony Boyar down the afternoon hillside--a picture that he never forgot. Her gray sombrero hung on the saddle-horn.

Her gloves were tucked in her belt. She had loosened the neck of her blouse and rolled back her sleeves, at the spring above, to bathe her face and arms in the chill overflow. Her hair shone with a soft golden radiance that was ethereal in the flicker of afternoon sunlight through the live-oaks. From her golden head to the tip of her small riding-boot she was a harmony of vigor and grace, of exquisite coloring and infinite charm.

Her naturalness of manner, her direct simplicity, was almost, if not quite, her greatest attraction, and a quality which Winthrop fully appreciated.

”I have been quite curious about you, Mr. Winthrop,” she said. ”You are quite like Anne. I adore Anne. Shall we turn Boyar into the corral?”

If William Stanley Winthrop had had any idea of making an impression, he forgot it. The impression Louise was unconsciously making straightway absorbed his attention.

”Yes, indeed! Turn him into the corral--turn him into _anything_, Miss Lacharme. You have the magic. Make another admirer of him.”

”Thank you, Mr. Winthrop. But Boyar could hardly be improved.”

”You trained him, didn't you?” queried Winthrop.

Louise laughed. ”Yes. But he was well-bred to begin with.”

Winthrop e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a mental ”Ouch!” Simplicity did not necessarily mean stupidity.

”Do you enjoy mining--the real work--out there in the desert, Mr.

Winthrop?”

”I could enjoy anything in company with Overland.”

”Of course. Do you think people who have lots of money are apt to be cynical?” she asked.

”Not more so than people without money. But what splendid animals!” he exclaimed as they approached the corral.

”Uncle Walter and I are very fond of them,” she said, turning Boyar into the inclosure.

”Do you know, Miss Lacharme, I like horses and dogs and cats, and I just revel in burros. But animals don't seem to like me. They're rather indifferent to me. I wonder if it is a matter of health, or magnetism, or something of that sort?”