He could not tell. It was the one thing about Gard that to him seemed to need explanation, and he would trust his friend without that. He was dismissing the matter when a fresh thought came.
“If he don’t know,” he muttered. “If he ain’t fixed his matters up, then that sneakin’ law-buzzard’s right. He can’t file any claim. They can do him, there; even if they can’t jail ’im. By the powers! That’s what they can do; an’ here I am, can’t leave the rancho!”
He groaned as this thought came home to him. He realized that he must stay at the Palo Verde: Morgan Anderson had left him in charge.
“If ’twant fer leavin’ the little gal all alone—” He stood distractedly considering.
“I don’t know enough about it anyway,” he at last exclaimed in despair. “Ah! That’s where Kate Hallard comes in.”
The words were scarcely off his lips when looking up, he gave a low whistle of surprise.
“Sure ’s beeswax,” he said, softly, unconsciously straightening up. “Here’s exactly where Kate Hallard comes in.”
It was in fact Mrs. Hallard, riding in from the desert, her handsome face more troubled in expression than Sandy had ever imagined it could be.
“Hello, Kate,” he called, going to meet her. “What’s up? You don’t look like you was out fer your health so to speak.”
“I ain’t.” Mrs. Hallard drew rein and looked down at the foreman.