"Lytton didn't go that way," he muttered, as he dropped to the ground again. "No use worryin' any more, though; it's time somebody knew he was here; they will soon, an' it won't do any harm."
He swept the valley with his gaze again and shook his head. "Seems like it's in shadow all the time now," he muttered, "an' not a cloud in the sky!"
When he found a bolt of proper length and fitted it in place the horse and rider were appreciably nearer and he watched them crawl toward him a moment.
"I went to th' wagon to get my roll,
To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul;
I went to th' wagon to draw my roll,
Th' boss said I was nine dollars in th' hole!
"Coma ti yi, youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,
Coma ti—"
He turned again to look at the approaching rider before he went into the stable. Then, for twenty minutes he was busy with hammer and saw, humming to himself, thinking of things quite other than the work at which his hands were busy.
"Is this the way you greet your visitors?"
It was Ann Lytton's voice coming from the stable doorway, and Bayard straightened slowly, turning awkwardly to look at her over his shoulder. She was flushed, flustered, uncertain for the moment just how to comport herself, but he did not notice for he was far off balance himself.
"Good-mornin', ma'am," he said, taking off his hat and stepping out from the stall in which he had been working. "What do you want here?"
His voice was pitched almost in a tone of rebuke.