“I am,” said Bridge.
“Mr. Bridge is entertaining me,” interrupted the girl, before Grayson could make any rejoinder. “It is my fault—I took him from his work. You don't mind, do you, Mr. Grayson?”
Grayson mumbled an inarticulate reply and went his way.
“Mr. Grayson does not seem particularly enthusiastic about me,” laughed Bridge.
“No,” replied the girl, candidly; “but I think it's just because you can't ride.”
“Can't ride!” ejaculated Bridge. “Why, haven't I been riding ever since I came here?”
“Mr. Grayson doesn't consider anything in the way of equestrianism riding unless the ridden is perpetually seeking the life of the rider,” explained Barbara. “Just at present he is terribly put out because you lost Brazos. He says Brazos never stumbled in his life, and even if you had fallen from his back he would have stood beside you waiting for you to remount him. You see he was the kindest horse on the ranch—especially picked for me to ride. However in the world DID you lose him, Mr. Bridge?”
The girl was looking full at the man as she propounded her query. Bridge was silent. A faint flush overspread his face. He had not before known that the horse was hers. He couldn't very well tell her the truth, and he wouldn't lie to her, so he made no reply.
Barbara saw the flush and noted the man's silence. For the first time her suspicions were aroused, yet she would not believe that this gentle, amiable drifter could be guilty of any crime greater than negligence or carelessness. But why his evident embarrassment now? The girl was mystified. For a moment or two they sat in silence, then Barbara rose.
“I must run along back now,” she explained. “Papa will be wondering what has become of me.”