“But you know, dear, he’s such fun!” pouted Tavia. “I can’t help plaguing him. He is so very innocent—a big man like him!—that he’s fair game. You are a regular spoil-sport.”
“I’ve another reason for going home,” said Dorothy, seriously. “Just the same, you are not to be trusted, Tavia. I am ashamed of you.”
“You needn’t be. I wouldn’t harm poor little Lance Petterby for the world!” giggled the black-eyed girl.
Dorothy was too worried over what the cowboy had told her about Philo Marsh to keep on joking with her friend. The instant they reached the ranch-house she ran to find Aunt Winnie.
“Oh, Auntie! you haven’t signed those horrid papers, have you?” Dorothy cried.
“What do you mean, child?” asked Mrs. White.
“For that Marsh man.”
“Why, Dorothy! you are greatly excited. What is the matter?”
“Then you have signed?” wailed Dorothy.
“No. I told him I would to-morrow if he brought out a commissioner of deeds with him. I cannot go to town now.”