But the stallion did not pursue them. He stood rather wabblingly and shook his head, and turned in slow circles as though he were dazed. The rifle shot had not, however, permanently injured him.
They were quickly out of the sight of the scene of Ruth’s peril. The young man looked down at her, trudging hot and dusty beside the pony, and his face crinkled into a broad smile again.
“You’re some girl,” he said. “I’d dearly love to know your name and just who you are. My—That is, my partner says you are a bunch of movie actors over there at Freezeout. But, of course, that old-timer who was up on the ridge and the girl in—er—overalls, were not actors. How about you?”
“Yes,” said Ruth, amusedly. “I act. Sometimes.”
“Get out!”
“I did. Out of my saddle to give you my seat. You should be more polite.”
He burst into open laughter at this. “You’re all right,” he declared. “Do you mind telling me your name?”
“Fielding. Miss Fielding, Mr. Royal.”
He grinned at her wickedly. “You’ve got only half of my name,” he said.
“Indeed?” she cried. “Yes, I suppose, like other people, you must have a first name.”