“Are there other people who want it?” queried Dorothy, earnestly. “I know Aunt Winnie has been approached by nobody but Mr. Marsh.”
“Not by the Ackron Company? The mine people?”
“Nobody but Mr. Marsh,” reiterated Dorothy.
Lance nodded slowly. “That might be. That might be. It’s well known, I reckon, that your A’nt favors the Desert City folks, just as Colonel Hardin did?”
“I suppose so,” Dorothy said. “And nobody but Mr. Marsh has come to see her. He wants to pay down money to bind the bargain.”
“Wal, Miss Dale,” Lance drawled, “if Philo Marsh is willing tuh pay out re’l money, he expects tuh git somethin’ in exchange. He must want the Lost River water mighty bad.”
“And in such haste!”
“Wal,” Lance added, “I dunno what they air in a hurry about. The desert’s been thar a right smart o’ years, an’ Lost River’s been rollin’ on for an ekal number, it’s likely. Tell yuh A’nt tuh take her time,” advised Lance, wisely. “When a man’s in sech an itch tuh close a deal, more’n likely he has his reasons, an’ it’s jest as well tuh wait an’ find out what them reasons air.”
He had been approaching the buckboard as he spoke and now lifted down Ophelia’s basket. A hound pup came running from the bunk-house door and sniffed inquiringly around the basket. Ophelia uttered a squawk of objection.
The pup started back, sniffed curiously again, and then rolled the basket over. There was a sudden thunder of hoofs from the far side of the corral, and raucous squeals rose from the ponies. Dorothy turned, startled, to see the herd charging straight toward her.