“I don’t think you need worry, Breckenridge. There were only two of them.”
Hetty wheeled her horse. “It’s Larry,” she said.
A minute later he saw them, and, pulling up, took off his hat; but Flora Schuyler noticed that he ventured on no more than this.
“It is late for you to be out alone. You are riding home?” he said.
“Of course!” said Hetty with, Miss Schuyler fancied, a chilliness which contrasted curiously with the relief she had shown a minute or two earlier.
“Well,” said Grant quietly, “I’m afraid you will have to put up with our company. There are one or two men I have no great opinion of somewhere about this prairie. This is Mr. Breckenridge, and as the trail is rough and narrow, he will follow with Miss Schuyler. I presume you don’t mind riding with him, although, like the rest of us, he is under the displeasure of your friends the cattle-barons?”
Miss Schuyler looked at him steadily. “I don’t know enough of this trouble to make sure who is right,” she said. “But I should never be prejudiced against any American who was trying to do what he felt was the work meant for him.”
“Well,” said Grant, with a little laugh, “Breckenridge will feel sorry that he’s an Englishman.”
Miss Schuyler turned to the young man graciously, and the dim light showed there was a twinkle in her eyes.
“That,” she said, “is the next best thing. Since you are with Mr. Grant you no doubt came out to this country because you thought we needed reforming, Mr. Breckenridge?”