Dorothy seized the big, hard hand the woman put out to her. There was help in that hand—and comfort. Tavia appeared not to care, but Dorothy Dale knew that her chum was just as much disturbed in secret over the situation as she was herself.
In rather a breathless way Dorothy told Mrs. Little of the circumstances leading up to their predicament, and her new friend listened sympathetically. “Don’t that beat all?” was her comment. “And I expect your folks is scaret, too. But you do like Lance says——”
“Is Lance to be trusted, Mrs. Little?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.
“Lance? Shore! Ef you was both my darters I’d trust yuh with Lance. Men is tuh be trusted with gals out yere. They hafter be. Wimmen is scurce—homes air far apart—a lone woman has a claim on a man in the wild places that she don’t have in cities. Shore!
“That’s what it is, Miss. It takes an out an’ out vilyun to be mean to a woman or a gal w’en there ain’t a mite of protection for her otherwise. Shore! Most western men, I ’low, air to be trusted.”
But Dorothy and Tavia thought of Philo Marsh, and took this broad statement with a grain of salt. Or was it, that Mr. Marsh, even, would have been chivalrous under the present conditions?
Dorothy was satisfied that the cowboy called Lance was a man to be depended upon. She had really believed in him from the start; now she believed even more in Mrs. Little, who stood sponsor for him.
Almost at once Lance reappeared with a sleepy man whom he had evidently gotten out of bed.
“Write your message, Ma’am,” said the cowboy, “and this man will send it. Make it re’l strong. We’ll ketch ’em at Sessions by noon to-morrer. They kin stop over an’ wait a while for yuh.
“Their tickets will be good on the D. & C. I’ve often done it myself. And yuh’ll all be in Dugonne to-morrer night, anyway, so it won’t matter erbout your berth coupons.”