Patricia dipped a spoon into her cereal and left it there. “Even so, I don’t believe Gary disappeared very mysteriously,” she said, her chin squaring itself. “He probably got tired of staying there and went back to Los Angeles by way of Tonopah. However, I shall drive out and see the ranch, now that I’m here. I’m very sorry you have been put to so much trouble, Mr. Girard. I really think Mr. Marshall should have left some word for you before he left. But then,” she added with some bitterness, “he didn’t seem to think it necessary to let _me_ know he was coming over here. And we have telephones in Los Angeles, Mr. Girard.” Monty’s eyes were very blue and steady when he looked at her across the table. He set down his cup and leaned forward a little. “If yuh spoke to Gary in that tone of voice, Miss Connolly,” he drawled, “I reckon he wouldn’t feel much like usin’ the telephone before he left town. Gary’s as nice a boy as I ever met in my life.” Patricia bit her under lip, and a tinge of red crept up over her cheek bones to the dark circles beneath her eyes, that told a tale of sleepless nights which Patricia herself would have denied. The remainder of the breakfast was a silent meal, with only such speech as was necessary and pertained to the trip before them. Monty advised the taking out of certain supplies and assisted Patricia in making up a list of common comforts which could be carried in a touring car. He left her at the hotel while he attended to the details of getting under way, and when he returned it was with a Ford and driver, and many parcels stacked in the tonneau. Patricia’s suit case was wedged between the front fender and the tucked-up hood of the motor, and a bundle of new bedding was jammed down upon the other side in like manner. Patricia herself was wedged into the rear seat beside the parcels and packages of food. Her black traveling bag Monty deposited between his feet in front with the driver. At the last moment, while the driver was cranking the motor, Monty reached backward with a small package in his hand. “Put on these sun goggles,” he said. “Your eyes will be a fright if you ride all day against this wind without any protection.” “Thank you very much, Mr. Girard,” said Patricia with a surprising meekness--for her. What is more, she put on the hideous amber glasses; though she hated the jaundiced look they gave to the world. Patricia had a good deal to think about during that interminable, jolting ride. She was given ample opportunity for the thinking, since Monty Girard never spoke to her except to inquire now and then if she were comfortable. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE GARY ROBS THE PINTO CAT OF HER DINNER That same morning Gary finished his third candle and tried his best to make one swallow of water, held long in his parched mouth, suffice for two hours.