Hepburn had watched them closely, not understanding, and in his usually amiable face was a cunning speculation.
"I wouldn't ask you to take a chance against your better judgment. If you must move on, I'm sorry. But ... I need you."
With those three words she had ended: I need you. But in them was a plea, frank, unabashed, and her eyes were filled with it and as he stood looking down at his hat, evidently undecided, she lifted one hand in appeal and spoke again in a tone that was low and sweet:
"Won't you, please?"
He nodded and said:
"I'll stay."
"I'm so glad!" she cried. "And you're glad, aren't you, Mr. Hepburn?"
The foreman had watched closely, trying to determine just what this all meant, but not knowing what had gone before, he was mystified. At her question he forced a show of heavy enthusiasm and said:
"Bet your life!" Then looking up to see the tall cowboy eyeing him with that half humorous smile, he rose and said:
"Now we can start doing business. Tom, Miss Hunter wants a horse, says she can ride and wants the best we've got, right off, to-day. There's that bunch that's been ranging in Little Piñon all winter. Guess we'd better bring 'em down this forenoon and let her pick one."