“I met him when he first came here. He was lost on the desert and I found him. After that we became very unfriendly. He jumped a mining claim belonging to my father. But we’ve made it up and agreed to be friends.”
“He wrote about the young lady who saved his life.”
Melissy smiled. “Did he say that I was a cattle and a stage rustler?”
“He said nothing that was not good.”
“I’m much obliged to him,” the Western girl answered breezily. “And now do tell me, Miss Yarnell, that you and your people have made up your mind to stay permanently.” 184
“Father is still looking the ground over. He has almost decided to buy a store here. Yet he has been in the town only a day. So you see he must like it.”
Outside the open second story window of the hotel Melissy heard a voice that sounded familiar. She moved toward the window alcove, and at the same time a quick step was heard in the hall. Someone opened the door of the parlor and stood on the threshold. It was the man called Boone.
Melissy, from the window, glanced round. Her first impulse was to speak; her second to remain silent. For the Arkansan was not looking at her. His mocking ribald gaze was upon Ferne Yarnell.
That young woman looked up from the letter of introduction she was reading and a startled expression swept into her face.
“Dunc Boone,” she cried.