Racey Dawson stared at her in horror. Her horse! He had actually run off with the horse of this beautiful being. He had thereby caused inconvenience to this angel. If he could only crawl off somewhere and pass away quietly. At the moment, by his own valuation, any one buying him for a nickel would have been liberally overcharged. Her horse! "I--I took yore hoss," he spoke up, desperately. "I'm Racey Dawson." "So you're the man--" she began, and stopped. He nodded miserably, his contrite eyes on the toes of her shoes. Small shoes they were. Cheerfully would he have lain down right there on the floor and let her wipe those selfsame shoes upon him. It would have been a positive pleasure. He felt so worm-like he almost wriggled. Slowly, oh, very slowly, he lifted his eyes to her face. "I--I was drunk," he confessed, hoping that an honest confession would restrain her from casting him into outer darkness. "I heard you were," she admitted. "I thought it was yore oldest sister's pony," he bumbled on, feeling it incumbent upon him to say something. "They told me something about an old lady." "Jane Morgan's the only other sister I have. Who told you this wild tale?" "Them," was his vague reply. He was not the man to give away the jokers of Farewell. Old lady, indeed! Miss Blythe to the contrary notwithstanding this girl was not within sight of middle-age. "Yeah," he went on, "they shore fooled me. Told me I'd taken an old maid's hoss, and--" "Oh, as far as that goes," said the girl, her long eyelashes demurely drooping, "they told you the truth. I'm an old maid." "You? Shucks!" Hugely contemptuous. "Oh, but I am," she insisted, raising her eyes and tilting sidewise her charming head. "I'm not married." "Thank--" he began, impulsively, but choked on the second word and gulped hard. "I mean," he resumed, hastily, "I don't understand why I never saw you before. I was here once, but you weren't around." "When were you here?... Why, that was two years ago. I was only a kid then--all legs like a calf. No wonder you didn't notice me." She laughed at him frankly, with a bewildering flash of white teeth. "I shore must 'a' been blind," he said, truthfully. "They ain't any two ways about _that_." Under his admiring gaze a slow blush overspread her smooth cheeks. She laughed again--uncertainly, and burst into swift speech. "My manners! What have I been thinking of? Mr. Dawson, please sit down, do. I know you must be tired after your long ride. Take that chair under the mirror. It's the strongest. You can tip it back against the wall if you like. I'll get you a cup of coffee. I know you're thirsty. I'm sorry Mother and Father aren't home, but Mother drove over to the Bar S on business and I don't know where Father went!" "I ain't fit to stay," hesitated Racey, rasping the back of his hand across his stubbly chin.