Lance, after catching and bringing back to them the two frightened ponies, escaped bashfully from the repeated expressions of gratitude of the girls, left them at the Hardin ranch with the declaration that he would ride straight to Garry’s “diggings” and, provided that he had returned, would send him directly to them.
It was only a short time after that that Dorothy, still astride her little Mexican pony, espied a rider in the distance.
“Seems to be in a big hurry, too,” said Tavia, as her eyes followed the direction of Dorothy’s pointing finger. “I wonder where the fire is.”
“Tavia!” Dorothy’s tone was sharp with excitement. “I think it is—why, I believe it is Garry!”
“Looks like a cloud of dust to me,” scoffed Tavia. “In your case, I think, the wish is father to the thought, Doro mia.”
“Well, let’s wait here and see who it is, anyway,” urged Dorothy. She noted the fact that Tavia looked at her curiously. “At the rate he is going I would hate to get in his way,” she added. Dorothy was of no mind to tell her chum of Hank Ledger’s mysterious behavior or of her own apprehension in regard to Stiffbold and Lightly.
They waited at the edge of the road for the horseman to come up. As the dust cloud cleared away and they could see him more plainly, Dorothy cried out with joy and urged her pony forward.
Tavia stared for a moment and then followed at a slow canter.
By the time she reached them, Garry’s gray, dust-covered mare and Dorothy’s little pony were close together. As for the riders, Tavia could not immediately tell which was which!
“Don’t mind me!” she laughed. “If I am too entirely out of the picture, just let me know and I will take myself hence.”