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I'd like to, but I've got a lot of work to get over with Garton " Only three or four doors from the office was the little cottage which he had helped Argyl to prepare for her father. Even while he was making his excuses he saw the door open, and Argyl herself, lithe and trim in her gray riding-habit, step out upon the tiny porch. "I beg pardon," he broke off, suddenly. "I Will you excuse me?"
"Argyl tells me," he said, to Conniston, as they all sat down, "that you are expecting some money by wire. You are leaving us, then, right away?" "I did expect some money," Conniston laughed, his good humor with him again. "I wired to my father for it. And I just had his answer. There is nothing doing." Mr. Crawford lifted his eyebrows. Argyl leaned forward.
Following the trail he and Argyl had taken the other day, he rode into the depression, or sink, about the middle of that long, low hollow between the southern end and the clutter of uniform square buildings which was planned to grow into a thriving town in the heart of the desert. Every foot of ground here now had a new personal interest for him.
As he was going out Garton called to him, his voice and face alike as cheerful as they had been throughout the afternoon. "I say, Conniston. Remember me to Miss Argyl, will you? She's a glorious girl. I never saw her match. She's got the same capability for doing big things that her father has. I said the other day that he was the whole brain and brawn of this war for reclamation.
With the compelling force of the man's blunt nature the whole atmosphere of the room was altered. "First rate, Bat," Tommy answered, cheerfully. "How's the work going?" "Good! The best day I've had in two weeks. We get to work on those seven knolls to-morrow. You remember Miss Argyl calls 'em Little Rome." "What have you decided? Going to make a detour, or "
Once he thought that Valley City must be at least eight or nine miles behind him his heart leaped with sudden hope and fear as he saw, half a mile to the east, a cluster of little sand-hills like those Argyl had told him surrounded her spring.
There an oil-stove was shooting up its yellow flames about a couple of stew-pans, and there Argyl herself, in blue gingham apron, her sleeves rolled up on her plump, white arms, was completing preparations for the evening meal. She turned to nod to Conniston and then back to her cooking. "You'll find a chair in the corner," she told him, as he stopped in the doorway, looking amusedly at her.
Argyl and Conniston were standing by a sinking camp-fire talking quietly. Lonesome Pete, returned from his errand, had gone into the grove at the edge of which their fire burned for fresh fuel. There came to them through the silence the clatter of hoofs; the vague, shadowy form of horse and rider rose against the sky-line, and Jocelyn Truxton threw herself to the ground.
Conniston and Argyl as they fled from the threatened dam could see him as he clambered upward, could see the loose stones and dirt set sliding, rattling from under his hurrying feet and clawing hands. Then came the thundering roar of the explosion.
Conniston saw that Argyl had seated herself and dropped into one of the big chairs himself, his whole body enjoying the luxury of it. At his elbow was a little table with cigars and cigarettes. Mr. Crawford laughed when he saw that Conniston, having glanced at the table, drew out his own cheap muslin bag of tobacco and rough, brown papers. "I'm getting used to them," Greek apologized.
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