"Dead!"
"Yas, he died back East an' his darter's come."
"Does she know he made a strike?" Patty noted the look of eagerness that accompanied the words.
"I do'no." Watts wagged his head slowly. "Mebbe so; mebbe not."
"Because, if she doesn't," Bethune hastened to add, "she should be told. Rod Sinclair was one of the best friends I had, and if he has gone I'm right here to see that his daughter gets a square deal. Of course if she has the location, she's all right." Patty wondered whether the man had purposely raised his voice, or was it her imagination?
Ma Watts had started for the door. "Come on out, honey, an' I'll make yo' acquainted with Mr. Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lord too." As she followed the woman to the door, the girl was conscious of an indefinable feeling of distrust for the man. Somehow, his words had not rung true.
As the two women stepped from the house the horsemen swung from their saddles and stood with uncovered heads.
"This yere's Mr. Sinclair's darter, Mr. Bethune," beamed Ma Watts. "An' I'd take hit proud ef yo'd all stay to dinner."
"Ah, Miss Sinclair, I am most happy to know you. Permit me to present my friend Lord Clendenning."
The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is merely a euphonism Miss Sinclair. What you really behold in me is the decayed part of a decaying aristocracy."