The two men came hurrying from the creek.
“Here, Curly!” said Haig, resigning his post. “Miss Gaylord has hurt her ankle. I found her unseated down the road yonder.” He paused, as if to 81 let that be thoroughly understood. “I want you to hitch up the sorrels and drive her home.”
“Right!” responded Curly, going into the stable.
Marion then did almost faint. She had not foreseen that manœuver.
“I’d rather not, please,” she said, as sweetly as she could in her dismay.
“Rather not what?” asked Haig, turning at last to her.
“I’d rather rest a while––somewhere––” Her glance went past him in the direction of the cottage. “Then I can ride home––alone.”
“And tumble off in the road somewhere!” he retorted, with a touch of derision in his tone.
“Oh, no!” she pleaded. “It’s not as bad as that.”
“No matter! I can’t allow you to take any chances,” he insisted curtly.