"Well, no. That is, not exactly." The stranger thought a moment. "I suppose I'll have to put up somewhere for the night; it's a dickens of a way to anywhere out here. I started from Rodeo, across the mountain, early this morning, thinking I could make it to San Carlos by night, but——"
"You couldn't get there before morning if you rode at top speed," said Ted, as the other hesitated.
"Are you going to the ranch house?" asked the stranger suddenly.
"Yes."
"Do you think your friend would put me up for the night?"
"I haven't a doubt of it. And to-morrow, too. You know this is Christmas Eve."
"So it is. I hadn't thought of it. My name is Farnsworth—Hilary Farnsworth."
The young fellow looked defiantly at Ted, who had started slightly at the name.
"Do you want to take me to the house now?" asked Farnsworth, with a slightly contemptuous smile.
So this was Farnsworth. "Fancy" Farnsworth, as he was called in the Southwest. Ted looked at him with new interest, and the other stared back with his gray eyes, which were as handsome as a woman's, and yet had in their depths a wicked, cruel gleam.