"Don't need to," he answered cheerily. "Besides, I'd a long session after I left you last night. No, no particulars at present. I told you you had spoiled your hands for that kind of work. How d'ye like this air? Isn't that something worth breathing?"
"Good enough," said Riles, "but I didn't come out here for air."
"No, you came for land. I'm surprised you're not out bouncing over the prairie in a buckboard long before this."
Riles shot a quick glance at Gardiner. But he was puffing a cigar and drinking in the warm sunshine with obvious satisfaction.
"So I might o' been, but I thought we kind o' made a date last night, didn't we?"
"Did we? Oh yes; now I remember. But I thought perhaps you'd feel different about it in the morning. A man generally does. I won't hold you to anything you said last night, Riles."
Riles could not recall that he had said anything that committed him in any way, but Gardiner's tone implied that plainly enough.
"I ain't changed my mind," he said, "but I don't know's I said anything bindin', did I? I thought we was goin' t' drive out t' your place t'-day an' talk things over."
"Well, I just didn't want you to lose any time over me if you thought things wouldn't work out," said Gardiner. "It takes more nerve, you know, than hoeing potatoes. But you're welcome to the hospitality of the ranch, in any case. I came in on horseback, so we'll get a team at one of the stables and drive out."
In a short time they were on their way. The road skirted the river, threading its way through the narrow belt of cotton-woods and evergreens that found footing in the moist soil of the valley. Here and there, through an opening in the trees, or across a broad wedge of prairie, could be seen the mountains, now bathed in a faint purple, silently receding before them. A soft breeze, neither hot nor cold, but moist and fresh from the great table-lands of snow, pressed gently about the travellers, but their thoughts were of neither the scenery nor the weather.