The corrals and long hay ricks of Granados were now in sight, backed by the avenue of palms and streaks of green where the irrigation ditches led water to the outlying fields and orchards.
“El Gavilan!” she called laughingly. “Beat him, Pat,––beat him to the home gate!”
Then out of a fork of the road to the left, an automobile swept to them from a little valley, one man was driving like the wind and another waved and shouted. Rhodes’ eyes assured him that the shouting man was Philip Singleton, and he rode closer to the girl, grasped her bridle, and slowed down his own horse as well as hers.
“You’ll hate me some more for this,” he stated as she tried to jerk loose and failed, “but that yelping windmill is your fond guardian, and he probably thinks I am trying to kidnap you.”
She halted at that, laughing and breathless, and waved her hand to the occupants of the car.
“I can be good as an angel now that I have had my day!” she said. “Hello folks! What’s the excitement?”
The slender man whom Rhodes had termed the yelping windmill, removed his goggles, and glared, hopelessly distressed at the flushed, half-laughing girl.
“Billie––Wilfreda!”
“Now, now, Papa Singleton! Don’t swear, and don’t ever get frightened because I am out of sight.” Then she cast one withering glance at Rhodes, adding,––“and if you engage range bosses like this one no one on Granados will ever get out of sight!”
“The entire house force has been searching for you over two hours. Where have you been?”