Sandy's mood had changed. He was in high fettle as he watched them go. The rider who was breaking horses for the Three Star surrendered his job that morning to the "old man."
Molly came back a little before noon, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Mr. Keith's in town," she said. "With Donald and his secretary, Mr. Blake. He asked me if Mr. Westlake had been here and he seemed annoyed when I told him I had just seen him off on the train. They all came from Casey Town in the big car. Has there been any trouble between Mr. Keith and Mr. Westlake?"
"The South American offer is a better chance than Casey Town," answered Sandy. "Mr. Keith may have been annoyed about that. His boy's along, you say? Is he comin' oveh to the ranch?"
"Yes. He wanted to come with me, to drive me out in the car, but I had the buckboard and I'd rather drive horses any day. So he'll be out a little later to take up your invitation. Mr. Keith has some business in Hereford. He and Mr. Blake will stay on their private car. He told me to tell you he would be out to-morrow to see you. Oh, here's a telegram for you."
"Thanks." Sandy tucked the envelope in his pocket. "Hop out, Molly, an' I'll put up the team."
"I'll help you. I haven't forgotten how to unhitch." Her nimble fingers worked as fast as Sandy's with buckles, coiling traces and looping reins. She led the team off to the drinking trough and fed each an apple, with Sandy looking at her, registering the picture that made such strong appeal.
"Goin' to take Donald Keith out fo' a real ride on a real hawss?" he asked her.
"Yes. To-morrow. He's keen to go. You'll come. And Sam and Kate?"
"I've got a hunch I'm goin' to be busy ter-morrer. Keith's comin', fo' one thing."