“I must put that title down on the manuscript,” said Frank. “I feel an inspiration. I must go to work at once. I am in the mood now, and I can write.”
Excusing himself, he hurried into the house. Soon a light gleamed from the window of the room in which he worked, which was on the ground floor. Looking in at that window, Hodge saw Frank had started a fire in the grate and lighted a lamp. He was seated at a table, writing away swiftly.
Kent Carson got up and stood beside Hodge looking into the room.
“Merriwell is a great worker,” said the rancher.
“He’s a steam engine,” declared Bart. “I never saw a fellow who could do so much work and so many things. There is no telling how long he will drive away at that play to-night. Now that he has the title, he may finish it to-night, and be ready to leave here in the morning.”
“If that happens, I shall be sorry I gave the title so soon,” said the cattleman, sincerely. “I have taken a great liking to that young man.”
Frank worked away a long time, utterly unconscious of the flight of the hours. At last he became aware that the fire in the open grate had made the room uncomfortably warm. He had replenished it several times, as there was something wonderfully cheerful in an open fire. He arose and flung wide the window.
The moon, a thin, shining scimitar, was low down in the west. Soon it would drop from view beyond the horizon. There was a haze on the plain. Slowly out of that haze came two objects that seemed to be approaching.
“Cattle,” said Merry, turning back from the window and sitting down at the table again.
He resumed work on the play. He did not hear the door open softly, he did not hear a light footstep behind him, he did not hear a rustling sound quite near, and it was not until a deep, tremulous sigh reached his ears that he became aware of another presence in the room.