In a moment Hazel was in the saddle again, and the man alternately watched her and scraped the thick mud off his clothes.
He was decidedly angry. His pride was outraged. But even these things began to pass as he noted the ease and skill with which she rounded up the runaway horse. She was doing all she could to help him out, and the fact helped to further mollify him. After all, she had warned him to take the bridge. Perhaps he had been too ready to see a bluff in what she had suggested. After all, why should she attempt to bluff him? He remembered how powerful he was to affect her father's interests, and took comfort from it.
She came back with the horse and dismounted.
"Say," she cried, in dismay, "that dandy suit of yours. It's all mussed to death. I'm real sorry, Mr. Slosson. My word, won't my daddy be angry."
The man began to smile under the girl's evident distress, and, his temper recovered, his peculiar nature promptly reasserted itself.
"Say, Miss Hazel—oh, hang the 'miss.' You owe me something for this, you do, an' I don't let folks owe me things long."
"Owe?" Hazel's face was blankly astonished.
"Sure." The man eyed her in an unmistakable fashion.
Suddenly the girl began to laugh. She pointed at him.
"Guess we'll need to get you home and cleaned down some before we talk of anything else I owe. That surely is something I owe you. Here, you get up into the saddle. I'll hold your horse, he's a bit scared. We'll talk of debts as we ride back."