Which was going very strong—for Farwell. He said it awkwardly, stiffly, because he was quite unaccustomed to such phrase. Sheila smiled to herself in the growing darkness.
"Well, friends if you like. But then we are of different camps—hostile camps."
"But I'm not hostile," said Farwell. "That's nonsense. Business is business, but outside of that it cuts no ice with me."
"Doesn't it?"
"Not with me," he declared stoutly. "Not a bit. You didn't blow up the dam. Even if you had——"
"Even if I had——"
"I wouldn't care," Farwell blurted. "Thank the Lord I'm not narrow-minded."
Sheila laughed. Her estimate of Farwell did not credit him with wideness of outlook. But her reply was prevented by the thud-thud of rapid hoofs. A horse and rider loomed through the dark.
"Hello, Sheila!" the rider called.
"Why, Casey, this is luck!" she exclaimed. Farwell scowled at the evident pleasure in her voice. "Light down. Better put your horse in the stable."