She stopped, at length, in front of Seth, dropped to one knee, bowed till her golden head almost touched the floor, and rose again to stand with her hands on her hips, her arms akimbo, her face flushed with excitement. "Seth Huntington!" she cried ecstatically. "Do you know what we're going to do?" He merely stared. "We're going to heap coals of fire on his head." "What do you mean?" demanded Huntington uneasily. "Marion's going to nurse Haig. There's no way any of us can stop her. She's our cousin and guest, and we've got to show it. If they want to talk, we'll give them something to talk about. _I'll go and nurse Haig too!_" Dead silence. "Ah!" cried Hillyer. "You'll not!" roared Huntington. "Watch me!" retorted Claire, turning swiftly, and running toward her bedroom. But halfway there she stopped. "No, don't watch me! You just go and look after the cattle. Leave this Mr. Haig to us, and he'll be the best friend you ever had before Marion and I get through with him." Hillyer, recovering from his amazement, stepped smiling to where she stood, and reached both his hands to her. "Mrs. Huntington," he said warmly. "You're a peach!" She laughed gaily, and put both her tiny hands in his, for just an instant. This was the last straw. Seth snorted like a baited animal, whirled around, bolted from the house, and ran blindly to the barn. "Saddle Nigger!" he yelled to Williams, who obeyed with stumbling alacrity, while Huntington strode up and down before the door. From the window of the ranch house Claire and Hillyer, silent, watched him until he had flung himself into the saddle, dug the spurs into the flanks of his favorite and now astonished black horse, and disappeared up the hill. "Where's he going?" asked Hillyer, suspicious that Huntington meant mischief. Claire drew back from the window with a sigh of relief. "He's going to--" She laughed softly, but with just a little tremor in her voice--"He's going to--look after the cattle." Hillyer saw that her blue eyes were moist. "He's the best man in the world, and--I love him," she said, looking at Hillyer with a soft appeal. "You believe that, don't you?" "Indeed I do, Mrs. Huntington," Hillyer answered heartily. "Then you must forgive him; he has such a temper!" "I'm sorry we had any misunderstanding," Hillyer was able to say sincerely. "I'll talk it over with him--later." "Please!" urged Claire. "But I must go now. Those things for Marion, please." "I'll have them ready in a minute. And I've only to slip on another dress, and--" "But you don't mean--You're not going?" "Of course I am!" she answered, with a look of surprise. "I think you'd better not," he said quietly. "But why?" "Now think a minute, Mrs. Huntington. Your husband objects to your going. It will not only anger him more, but it will hurt him. Isn't that so?" "Yes," she admitted reluctantly. Her coals of fire had kindled her imagination. Such a romantic idea! There would be such talk, such a sensation!