But all of a sudden she became aware that her regard had been observed, and, with a little smile twinkling in the depths of her hazel eyes, she picked up her horse's forefoot again, and once more probed with her gauntleted finger for the cause of the desperate lameness with which he had been suddenly attacked.
She heard the buggy come up. She was aware that the team had swung out to avoid collision. Then a cheery voice greeted her ears with its pleasant and welcome inquiry—
"You seem to be in a fix. Can I help any?"
Before the girl looked round she was aware that the teamster had alighted. Then when she finally released her hold of the injured hoof, and stood up, she found herself confronted by Gordon's smiling blue eyes, as he stood bare-headed before her.
Somehow or other a smiling response was unavoidable.
"That's real kind of you," she said, "but I don't guess you can. You see, poor Sunset's dead lame with a flint in his frog, and—and I just can't get the fool thing out."
Gordon endeavored to look serious. But the trouble was incomparable in his mind with the delightful charm of this girl, in her divided riding-suit. However, his effort to conceal his admiration was not without some success.
"I don't guess we can stand for any old thing like an impertinent flint," he said impulsively. "Sunset must be relieved. Sunset must be put out of pain. I'm not just a veterinary surgeon, but I'm a specialist on the particular flint which happens to annoy you. Just grab these lines while I have a look."
The frank unconventionality of the man was wholly pleasing, and the girl found herself obeying him without question.
"It's the nearside," she explained.