The astonishment, the incredulity were perfect. They might well have deceived anybody.
"Sure," said the millionaire dryly. Then, "I don't guess they've hurt her any, though. Maybe you best hand her over to her father," he went on, pointing at the burly figure of Silas Mallinsbee, who, with his patch well down over his eye, had appeared at that moment in the doorway. "Guess he'll know how to soothe her some. Meanwhile you'll maybe tell me how you lit on our trail."
The man's smile was disarming, yet Gordon fancied he detected a shadow of that lurking irony which he knew so well in his father.
He turned about, however, and passed Hazel over to the rancher, while he added tender injunctions—
"Say, Mr. Mallinsbee, she's scared all to death. You best get her to bed. Poor little girl! Say, I'd like——"
But he did not complete his sentence. Instead he turned to his father, as Hazel, with difficulty restraining her laughter, was led from the room by her solemn-faced, fierce-eyed parent.
"Say, Dad, what in the name of all creation has brought you here?"
The millionaire turned, and a cold eye of hatred settled upon the background which Hip-Lee formed to the picture.
"Do we need that yellow reptile present?" he said unemotionally.
"I guess not," said Gordon readily. Then he pointed the door to the Mongolian. "Get!" he ejaculated. And the injunction was acted upon with silent alacrity.