His red head sailed through the air and landed in the white sand at the girl’s feet. For a moment he sat in the road and gazed with chagrin after the vanishing heels of his mount. Then his wrathful eyes came round to the owner of the machine that had caused the eruption. His mouth had opened to give adequate expression to his feelings, when he discovered anew the forgotten fact that he was dealing with a woman. His jaw hung open for an instant in amaze; and when he remembered the unedited vocabulary he had turned loose on the world a flood of purple swept his tanned face. She wanted to laugh, but wisely refrained. “I’m very sorry,” was what she said. He stared in silence as he slowly picked himself from the ground. His red hair rose like the quills of a porcupine above a face that had the appearance of being unfinished. Neither nose nor mouth nor chin seemed to be quite definite enough. She choked down her gayety and offered renewed apologies. “I was going for a doc,” he explained, by way of opening his share of the conversation. “Then perhaps you had better jump in with me and ride back to the Lazy D. I suppose that’s where you came from?” He scratched his vivid head helplessly. “Yes, ma’am.” “Then jump in.” “I was going to Bear Creek, ma’am,” he added dubiously. “How far is it?” “’Bout twenty-five miles, and then some.” “You don’t expect to walk, do you?” “No; I allowed—” “I’ll take you back to the ranch, where you can get another horse.” “I reckon, ma’am, I’d ruther walk.” “Nonsense! Why?” “I ain’t used to them gas wagons.” “It’s quite safe. There is nothing to be afraid of.” Reluctantly he got in beside her, as happy as a calf in a branding pen. “Are you the lady that sashaid off with Ned Bannister?” he asked presently, after he had had time to smother successively some of his fear, wonder and delight at their smooth, swift progress. “Yes. Why?” “The boys allow you hadn’t oughter have done it.” Then, to place the responsibility properly on shoulders broader than his own, he added: “That’s what Judd says.” “And who is Judd?” “Judd, he’s the foreman of the Lazy D.” Below them appeared the corrals and houses of a ranch nestling in a little valley flanked by hills. “This yere’s the Lazy D,” announced the youth, with pride, and in the spirit of friendliness suggested a caution. “Judd, he’s some peppery. You wanter smooth him down some, seeing as he’s riled up to-day.” A flicker of steel came into the blue eyes. “Indeed! Well, here we are.” “If it ain’t Reddy, _and_ the lady with the flying machine,” murmured a freckled youth named McWilliams, emerging from the bunkhouse with a pan of water which had been used to bathe the wound of one of the punctured combatants. “What’s that?” snapped a voice from within; and immediately its owner appeared in the doorway and bored with narrowed black eyes the young woman in the machine. “Who are you?” he demanded, brusquely.