“You don’t need to mention this to Miss Sheila,” he said mockingly, as Duncan urged his horse away from the corral gate; “just let her go on—thinking you’re a man.”
CHAPTER IX
STRICTLY BUSINESS
For two or three quiet weeks Sheila did not see much of Duncan, and her father bothered her very little. Several nights on the gallery of the ranchhouse she had seen the two men sitting very close together, and on one or two occasions she had overheard scraps of conversation carried on between them in which Doubler’s name was mentioned.
She remembered Doubler as one of the nesters whom Duncan had mentioned that day on the butte overlooking the river, and though her father and Duncan had a perfect right to discuss him, it seemed to Sheila that there had been a serious note in their voices when they had mentioned his name.
She had become acquainted with Doubler. Since discontinuing her rides with her father and Duncan she had gone out every day alone, though she was careful to avoid any crossing in the river which looked the least suspicious. Such crossings as she could ford were few, and for that reason she was forced to ride most of the time to the Two Forks, where there was an excellent shallow, with long slopes sweeping up to the plains on both sides.
The first time that she crossed at the Two Forks she had come upon a small adobe cabin situated a few hundred yards back from the water’s edge.
Sheila would have fled from the vicinity, for there was still fresh in her mind a recollection of another cabin in which she had once passed many fearsome hours, but while she hesitated, on the verge of flight, Doubler came to the door, and when she saw that he was an old man with a kindly face, much of her perturbation vanished, and she remained to talk.