"I cannot invite you to come into the house now," she exclaimed,
sweetly, "for I am almost like a stranger here myself, but I do hope
you will both of you call. I shall be so very lonely at first, and you
are my earliest acquaintances. You will promise, won't you?"
McNeil bowed, painfully clearing his throat, but Moffat succeeded in
expressing his pleasure with a well-rounded sentence.
"I felt sure you would. But now I must really say good-bye for this
time, and go in with Aunt Lydia. I know I must be getting horribly
burned out here in this hot sun. I shall always be so grateful to you
both."
The two radiant knights walked together toward the road, neither
uttering a word. McNeil whistled carelessly, and Moffat gazed intently
at the distant hills. Just beyond the gate, and without so much as
glancing toward his companion, the latter turned and strode up one of
the numerous diverging trails. McNeil halted and stared after him in
surprise.
"Ain't you--eh--goin' on down town?"
"I reckon not. Take a look at my mine first."
McNeil chuckled. "You--eh--better be careful goin' up
that--eh--gully," he volunteered, soberly, "the--eh--ghosts of them
four--eh--Injuns might--eh--haunt ye!"
Moffat wheeled about as if he had been shot in the back.
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