“Sure,” he agreed, whimsically. “I must live up to the professional standard. Honor among thieves, y’u know.” CHAPTER IX. MISS DARLING ARRIVES Miss Messiter clung to civilization enough, at least, to prefer that her chambermaid should be a woman rather than a Chinese. It did not suit her preconceived idea of the proper thing that Lee Ming should sweep floors, dust bric-a-brac, and make the beds. To see him slosh-sloshing around in his felt slippers made her homesick for Kalamazoo. There were other reasons why the proprieties would be better served by having another woman about the place; reasons that had to do with the chaperone system that even in the uncombed West make its claims upon unmarried young women of respectability. She had with her for the present fourteen-year-old Ida Henderson, but this arrangement was merely temporary. Wherefore on the morning after her arrival Helen had sent two letters back to “the States.” One of these had been to Mrs. Winslow, a widow of fifty-five, inviting her to come out on a business basis as housekeeper of the Lazy D. The buxom widow had loved Helen since she had been a toddling baby, and her reply was immediate and enthusiastic. Eight days later she had reported in person. The second letter bore the affectionate address of Nora Darling, Detroit, Michigan. This also in time bore fruit at the ranch in a manner worthy of special mention. It was the fourth day after Ned Bannister had been carried back to the Lazy D that Helen Messiter came out to the porch of the house with a letter in her hand. She found her foreman sitting on the steps waiting for her, but he got up as soon as he heard the fall of her light footsteps behind him. “You sent for me, ma’am?” he asked, hat in hand. “Yes; I want you to drive into Gimlet Butte and bring back a person whom you’ll find at the Elk House waiting for you. I had rather you would go yourself, because I know you’re reliable.” “Thank you, ma’am. How will I know him?” “It’s a woman—a spinster. She’s coming to help Mrs. Winslow. Inquire for Miss Darling. She isn’t used to jolting two days in a rig, but I know you will be careful of her.” “I’ll surely be as careful of the old lady as if she was my own mother.” The mistress of the ranch smothered a desire to laugh. “I’m sure you will. At her age she may need a good deal of care. Be certain you take rug enough.” “I’ll take care of her the best I know how. Expect she’s likely rheumatic, but I’ll wrop her up till she looks like a Cheyenne squaw when tourist is trying to get a free shoot at her with camera.” “Please do. I want her to get a good impression of Wyoming so that she will stay. I don’ know about the rheumatism, but you might ask her.” There were pinpoints of merriment behind the guileless innocence of her eyes, but they came to the surface only after the foreman had departed.