Jack Newman spoke hastily.

"This is Mr. Cartwell, our irrigation engineer, Mr. Porter."

Porter responded to the young Indian's courteous bow with a surly nod,
and proceeded with his soup.

"I'd as soon eat with a nigger as an Injun," he said to Rhoda under cover
of some laughing remark of Katherine's to Cartwell.

"He seems to be nice," said Rhoda vaguely. "Maybe, though, Katherine
_is_ a little liberal, making him one of the family."

"Is there any hunting at all in this open desert country?" asked DeWitt.
"I certainly hate to go back to New York with nothing but sunburn to show
for my trip!"

"Coyotes, wildcats, rabbits and partridges," volunteered Cartwell. "I
know where there is a nest of wildcats up on the first mesa. And I know
an Indian who will tan the pelts for you, like velvet. A jack-rabbit
pelt well tanned is an exquisite thing too, by the way. I will go on a
hunt with you whenever the ditch can be left."

"And while they are chasing round after jacks, Miss Tuttle," cut in Billy
Porter neatly, "I will take you anywhere you want to go. I'll show you
things these kids never dreamed of! I knew this country in the days of
Apache raids and the pony express."

"That will be fine!" replied Rhoda. "But I'd rather hear the stories
than take any trips. Did you spend your boyhood in New Mexico? Did you