Yes: that was what he would do, without fail. He saw straight, and he would follow the straight path. Oh! It was good to feel trust in one’s friends! Something of the peace and serenity that Gard himself had won out of solitude and despair fell upon her spirit at thought of his clear vision, and steady holding of the right.
Yet her heart was heavy. She told herself that this was because she feared for the ultimate happiness of one friend. She remembered her father’s words about Mrs. Hallard: “coarse; hard; her tongue tipped with vitriol.” Surely they must be unjust, or this man, who was fine and true, would not care. He could not care. Perhaps he would come to see before it was too late, and would “pull out and get away.” But no: that he would not do. His was a steadfast nature; of that she was sure!
Before Old Joe Papago’s door, reins dropped to the sand, stood a stout roan horse, and leaning against the door-post, talking to Mrs. Old Joe, was a woman dressed in khaki. It needed but a single glance to tell Helen who it was.
The blonde head turned as the girl rode up, and the big black eyes surveyed her comprehensively, but there was no sign of recognition in the hard, impassive face. Mrs. Old Joe grunted a response to Helen’s greeting, and the latter dismounted.
Acting upon a sudden impulse she came close to the woman by the doorway.
“Good-morning,” she said, simply, holding out her hand. “This is Mrs. Hallard, isn’t it? I am Helen Anderson.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Hallard said, apparently not seeing the outstretched hand. Kate Hallard had no mind to be patronized: but she studied the girl’s face, stealthily, and the bold eyes grew a shade softer.
She did not know that Gard had left the Palo Verde that morning. Westcott, who had tried hard to come to some sort of terms with her, in the other man’s absence, had told her that the latter would probably let himself be detained at the rancho for a fortnight, at least. He had drawn a vivid picture of Gard making the most of this opportunity to win a way into Miss Anderson’s good graces. The lawyer’s methods had been primitive. He sought to play upon the woman’s presumable capacity for jealousy, and thus set her against Gard.
He might have saved himself the mental wear and tear. Kate Hallard was not a fool; nor a devotee of the heart-complication school of fiction. She held no illusions about Gard’s attitude toward herself, and she had come to believe in him, passionately. Nevertheless, Westcott’s efforts had awakened in her a keen interest in Helen.
“I expect you are on the same errand as myself,” the girl was saying, determined not to be repulsed. “Mrs. Joe keeps all the girls in her reboso.”