"Well," she said, "you've come," and her level eyes searched him through and through.
"Yes," he replied, riding to her side, "I've come; and my mind's made up."
She raised her dark brows in an attempt to betoken a mild struggle between politeness and indifference; but the hand on her saddle horn trembled, and the red had gone out of her cheeks.
"I must get out of here tomorrow," he said, "and go to Los Angeles. I've just about enough money to take me there and back; but I have the unbounded faith of an amateur in several farm articles now in editors' hands."
She lowered black lashes over her eyes and nodded slowly up and down.
"Exactly," she said. "You must carry out Peter Drew's instructions to the letter."
"But I can tell you what my answer to Dad's lawyers is going to be. I—"
"Don't!" she cried, raising a protesting hand. "Not a word to me. My responsibility ceased when I placed the envelope in your hands. I'm no longer concerned in the matter. That is—" she hesitated.
"Yes, go on."
"Until after you have made your report to the attorneys," she added. "Then, of course, I'll—I'll be sort of curious to know what your answer is."