"Do I?" Gordon's eyes were blankly inquiring. "Now how on earth do I know where I was going? Say, I guess it's true I had in my mind a vision of the glinting summer sun, tinting the coal heaps with its wonderful, golden, ripening rays—though I guess it would be some work ripening stove coal—but as to my ever getting there—well, that just depended on the trail I happened to take. As I said, I'm a stranger. And I may as well admit right here that I've a hobby getting mussed up with wrong trails."
The girl's laughter dispelled her last effort at dignity.
"I knew you were a stranger. You see, I get to know everybody here—by sight."
Gordon made a gesture of annoyance.
"There," he exclaimed in self-disgust, "I ought to have thought of that before. How on earth could I expect you to ride in a stranger's buggy, with said stranger on the business end of the lines? Then the hills are so near. Why, you might be spirited off goodness knows where, and your loving relatives never, never hear of you no more, and—— Say, we can easily fix that though. My name's—Van Henslaer. Gordon Van Henslaer from New York. Now if you tell me—what's the matter?"
A merry peal of laughter had greeted his announcement, and Gordon looked on in pretended amazement, waiting for her mirth to subside.
"Oh dear, oh dear," the girl cried at last. "I might have known. Say, of course I ought to have known. You came here yesterday on the train—by mistake. You——"
"That's so. I'd booked through to Seattle, but—some interfering pack of fools guessed I'd made a—mistake,"
The girl nodded. Her pretty eyes were still dancing with merriment.
"Father came by the same train, and told me of someone who got mixed up in—in a fight, and they threw——"