Then Beatrice put her head down upon the little, blue velvet cap of Dorman and laughed. There was a rollicking note in her laughter that was irresistible, and the eyes of the man relented and joined in her mirth. His lips forgot they were angry and insulted, and uncovered some very nice teeth. “We aren't really crazy,” Beatrice told him, sitting up straight and drying her eyes daintily with her handkerchief. “We were on our way to Mr. Lansell's ranch, and the horses broke something and ran away, and Dick--Mr. Lansell--has gone to catch them. We're waiting until he does.” “I see.” From the look in his eyes one might guess that what he saw pleased him. “Which direction did they take?” Beatrice waved a gloved hand vaguely to the left, and, without another word, the fellow touched his hat, turned and waded to shore and galloped over the ridge she indicated; and the clucketycluck of his horse's hoofs came sharply across to them until he dipped out of sight. “You see, he wasn't a robber,” Beatrice remarked, staring after him speculatively. “How well he rides! One can see at a glance that he almost lives in the saddle. I wonder who he is.” “For all you know, Beatrice, he may be going now to murder Richard and Sir Redmond in cold blood. He looks perfectly hardened.” “Oh, do you think it possible?” cried Miss Hayes, much alarmed. “No!” cried Beatrice hotly. “One who did not know your horror of novels, mama, might suspect you of feeding your imagination upon 'penny dreadfuls.' I'm sure he is only a cowboy, and won't harm anybody.” “Cowboys are as bad as highwaymen,” contended her mother, “or worse. I have read how they shoot men for a pastime, and without even the excuse of robbery.” “Is it possible?” quavered Miss Hayes faintly. “No, it isn't!” Beatrice assured her indignantly. “He has the look of a criminal,” declared Mrs. Lansell, in the positive tone of one who speaks from intimate knowledge of the subject under discussion. “I only hope he isn't going to murder--” “They're coming back, mama,” interrupted Beatrice, who had been watching closely the hilltop. “No, it's that man, and he is driving the horses.” “He's chasing them,” corrected her mother testily. “A horse thief, no doubt. He's going to catch them with his snare--” “Lasso, mama.” “Well, lasso. Where can Richard be? To think the fellow should be so bold! But out here, with miles upon miles of open, and no police protection anything is possible. We might all be murdered, and no one be the wiser for days--perhaps weeks. There, he has caught them.” She leaned back and clasped her hands, ready to meet with fortitude whatever fate might have in store. “He's bringing them out to us, mama. Can't you see the man is only trying to help us?”