“You are tired, and you miss your tea.” soothed Beatrice, optimistic as to tone. “When we all have a good rest we will be all right. Dorman will find plenty to amuse him. We are none of us exactly comfortable now.” “Comfortable!” sniffed her mother. “I am half dead. Richard wrote such glowing letters home that I was misled. If I had dreamed of the true conditions, Miss Hayes, I should never have sanctioned this wild idea of Beatrice's to come out and spend the summer with Richard.” “It's coming, Be'trice! There it is! Will it bite, auntie? Say, will it bite?” Beatrice looked. A horseman came over the hill and was galloping down the long slope toward them. His elbows were lifted contrary to the mandates of the riding-school, his long legs were encased in something brown and fringed down the sides. His gray hat was tilted rakishly up at the back and down in front, and a handkerchief was knotted loosely around his throat. Even at that distance he struck her as different from any one she had ever seen. “It's a highwayman!” whispered Mrs. Lansell “Hide your purse, my dear!” “I--I--where?” Miss Hayes was all a-flutter with fear. “Drop it down beside the wheel, into the water. Quick! I shall drop my watch.” “He--he is coming on this side! He can see!” Her whisper was full of entreaty and despair. “Give them here. He can't see on both sides of the buggy at once.” Mrs. Lansell, being an American--a Yankee at that--was a woman of resource. “Beatrice, hand me your watch quick!” Beatrice paid no attention, and there was no time to insist upon obedience. The horseman had slowed at the water's edge, and was regarding them with some curiosity. Possibly he was not accustomed to such a sight as the one that met his eyes. He came splashing toward them, however, as though he intended to investigate the cause of their presence, alone upon the prairie, in a vehicle which had no horses attached in the place obviously intended for such attachment. When he was close upon them he stopped and lifted the rakishly tilted gray hat. “You seem to be in trouble. Is there anything I can do for you?” His manner was grave and respectful, but his eyes, Beatrice observed, were having a quiet laugh of their own. “You can't get auntie's watch, nor gran'mama's. Gran'mama frowed 'em all down in the mud. She frowed her money down in the mud, too,” announced Dorman, with much complacency. “Be'trice says you is a coyote. Is you?” There was a stunned interval, during which nothing was heard but the wind whispering things to the grass. The man's eyes stopped laughing; his jaw set squarely; also, his brows drew perceptibly closer together. It was Mrs. Lansell's opinion that he looked murderous.