Lance quivered a little. "Girl--girl, what is it about you that drives a man mad with tenderness for you, sometimes?" He slipped his free arm around her shoulders, pressed her close. "Oh, girl--girl! Don't hate Lance--just because he's a Lorrigan. Be fairer than that." He bent his head to kiss her, drew himself suddenly straight, his brows frowning. "There--run back and ask your mother what all she would like to have done for her in town, and tell the doctor that I'll have the horse ready for him in about two minutes. And be game--just go on being game. Your friends will be here just as soon as I can get them here." He turned into the stable and began saddling the horse. Mary Hope, after a moment of indecision, went back to the house, walking slowly, as though she dreaded entering again to take up the heavy burden of sorrow that must be borne with all its sordid details, all the meaningless little conventions that attend the passing of a human soul. She had not loved her father very much. He was not a man to be loved. But his going was a bereavement, would leave a desolate emptiness in her life. Her mother would fill with weeping reminiscence the hours she would have spent in complaining of his harshness. She herself must somehow take charge of the ranch, must somehow fill her father's place that seemed all at once so big, so important in her world. She looked back, wistfully, saw Lance leading out the horse. He had told her to be game--to go on being game. She wondered if he knew just how hard it was going to be for her. He had said that the Lorrigans were strong, were harder to defeat, had always held their own. He was proud because of their strength! She lifted her head, carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks--Mary Hope seemed always to be wiping tears from her cheeks lately!--and opened the door. The Lorrigans? Very well, there was also the Douglas blood, and that was not weaker than the Lorrigan. She was quite calm, quite impersonal when she gave Lance a list of the pitifully small errands she and her mother would be grateful if he would perform for them. Her lips did not quiver, her hands did not tremble when she took her father's old red morocco wallet from the bureau drawer and gave Lance money to pay for the things they would need. Or if he would just hand the list to the Kennedys, she told him, they would be glad to attend to everything and save him the bother. They would come out at once, and perhaps Mrs. Smith would come. She thanked him civilly for the trouble he had already taken and added a message of thanks for Belle. She thanked him for the use of the horse and for attending to the schoolhouse matter for her. She was so extremely thankful that Lance exploded in one two-word oath when he rode away. Whereupon the doctor, who knew nothing of Lance's thoughts, looked at him in astonishment. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE LANCE TRAILS A MYSTERY