She had just taken leave of Ruth who, at the instant Randerson stepped on the porch, was standing inside the doorway, watching her. She had given the girl a trinket that had long been coveted by her, and Hagar's eyes were bright with delight as she took leave of her friend. They grew even brighter when she saw Randerson on the porch, and a swift color suffused her face. The girl stood still, looking at the range boss. A sudden whim to discover if he recognized her, took possession of her--for she had known him long and he had been a friend to her father when friends were few; she stood looking straight at him. He gave her one quick, penetrating glance, and then stepped back, astonishment and recognition in his eyes. Then he took a quick step forward and seized her hands, holding her at arm's length, his eyes leaping in admiration. "Why, if it ain't Hagar Catherson!" he said, wonder in his voice. "Have you just got out of a fairy book?" Old friendship was speaking here; Ruth could not fail to understand that. But he had not yet finished. "Why, I reckon--" he began. And then he saw Ruth, and his lips wreathed in a delighted grin. "You're the fairy, ma'am." And then he sobered. "Shucks. I'm talkin' nonsense, ma'am. I've come to tell you that the grass ain't what it ought to be where we've been, an' tomorrow we're drivin' past here to go down the river." He was still holding Hagar's hands, and now he seemed to realize that perhaps he had been too effusive, and he flushed and dropped them. "You was just goin', I reckon," he said to the girl. And at her nod, and a quick, pleased glance from her eyes, he added: "Tell your dad that I'm comin' over to see him, pretty soon. I'd have been over before, but I've been sort of busy." "We've been a-hopin' you'd come," answered Hagar. And with another smile at Ruth she stepped off the porch and mounted her pony. Randerson went directly to his room, and Ruth stood for a long time at the door, watching Hagar as she rode her pony over the plains. There was a queer sensation of resentment in her breast over this exhibition of friendship; she had never thought of them knowing each other. She smiled after a while, however, telling herself that it was nothing to her. But the next time that she saw Hagar she ascertained her age. It was seventeen. The outfit came in the next morning--fourteen punchers, the horse-wrangler having trouble as usual with the _remuda_, the cook, Chavis, and Pickett. They veered the herd toward the river and drove it past the ranchhouse and into a grass level that stretched for miles. It was near noon when the chuck wagon came to a halt near the bunkhouse door, and from the porch of her house Ruth witnessed a scene that she had been anticipating since her first day in the West--a group of cowboys at play.