“Well, for God’s sake, kill that cat! By gosh, it’s enough to drive a fellow crazy. It’s wrong in the head and—and yuh know it might have hydrophoby.”
Gary laughed. “Why, I couldn’t keep house without the pinto cat! That’s great business. Furnishes atmosphere and—er—entertainment.”
It was perfectly apparent that Gary had some secret reason for staying. Something which he would not tell Monty Girard, although the two had become rather good friends. Monty’s face clouded; but Gary slapped him reassuringly on the shoulder.
“Tell you what you do, old fellow. You draw me a map so I can find my way over to your place later on. And if one of these horses is any good under the saddle, I’ll keep him in the corral so I’ll have something to ride. Now I’ve got hay, the beggar ought to make out all right.”
Monty had to be content with that and rode away to his own camp somewhat reluctantly, leaving Gary standing in the doorway of the cabin, his hands braced against the frame on either side, smoking and staring after him a bit wistfully.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PATRICIA REGISTERS FURY
Patricia waited a week. One day at the office when she happened to be alone for half an hour, she jerked the telephone hook off its shelf and looked up Cohen’s studio number. Inwardly she was furious. She would be a long time forgiving Gary for forcing her to speak the first word. She could see no possible excuse for such behavior, and her voice, when she spoke into the mouthpiece, was coldly impersonal.
“Will you please tell me where I can get into touch with Mr. Mills’ company?” Patricia might have been calling up the freight office to put a tracer on a lost shipment of ground barley.
“Mr. Mills’ company is out on location,” replied a voice which Patricia mentally dubbed snippy.
“I asked you where I could get in touch with Mr. Mills’ company. This is important.” Patricia spoke into a dead telephone. The snippy one in Cohen’s office had hung up.