“Oh!” exclaimed the other, in a softened tone. “And you are Miss Morrell?”
“I am. And who are you? Easterner, of course?”
“You guessed right—though, I suppose, you ‘reckon’ instead of ‘guess.’ I’m from New York.”
“Is that so?” queried Helen. “That’s a place I want to see before long.”
“Well, you’ll be disappointed,” remarked the other. “My name is Dudley Stone, and I was born and brought up in New York and have lived there all my life until I got away for this trip West. But, believe me, if I didn’t have to I would never go back!”
“Why do you have to go back?” asked Helen, simply.
“Business. Necessity of earning one’s living. I’m in the way of being a lawyer—when my days of studying, and all, are over. And then, I’ve got a sister who might not fit into the mosaic of this freer country, either.”
“Well, Dudley Stone,” quoth the girl from Sunset Ranch, “we’d better not stay talking here. It’s getting darker every minute. And I reckon your foot needs attention.”
“I hate to move it,” confessed the young Easterner.
“You can’t stay here, you know,” insisted Helen. “Where’s my rope?”