Billy began to grin sheepishly.
“Aw, that's all right,” he said in mock-lordly fashion. “Roy Blanchard can come. I'll let 'm. All that was a long time ago. Besides, I 'm too busy to fool with such things.”
He urged his horse on at a faster walk, and as soon as the slope lessened broke into a trot. At Trillium Covert they were galloping.
“You'll have to stop for dinner first,” Saxon said, as they neared the gate of Madrono Ranch.
“You stop,” he answered. “I don't want no dinner.”
“But I want to go with you,” she pleaded. “What is it?”
“I don't dast tell you. You go on in an' get your dinner.”
“Not after that,” she said. “Nothing can keep me from coming along now.”
Half a mile farther on, they left the highway, passed through a patent gate which Billy had installed, and crossed the fields on a road which was coated thick with chalky dust. This was the road that led to Chavon's clay pit. The hundred and forty lay to the west. Two wagons, in a cloud of dust, came into sight.
“Your teams, Billy,” cried Saxon. “Think of it! Just by the use of the head, earning your money while you're riding around with me.”