"No," said Rhoda, suddenly recalling that, after all, Cartwell was an
Indian, "I don't think I will go. Katherine will have all sorts of
objections."

The Indian smiled sardonically.

"I already have Mrs. Jack's permission. Billy Porter will be in, in a
moment. If you would rather have a white man than an Indian, as escort,
I'm quite willing to retreat."

Rhoda flushed delicately.

"Your frankness is almost--almost impertinent, Mr. Cartwell."

"I don't mean it that way at all!" protested the Indian. "It's just that
I saw so plainly what was going on in your mind and it piqued me. If it
will be one bit pleasanter for you with Billy, I'll go right out and hunt
him up for you now."

The young man's naïveté completely disarmed Rhoda.

"Don't be silly!" she said. "Go get your famous top-buggy and I'll be
ready in a minute."

In a short time Rhoda and Cartwell, followed by many injunctions from
Katherine, started off toward the irrigating ditch. At a slow pace they
drove through the peach orchard into the desert. As they reached the
open trail, thrush and to-hee fluttered from the cholla. Chipmunk and
cottontail scurried before them. Overhead a hawk dipped in its reeling