"Now, Mr. Weaver, we'll adjourn to the house."
"Anything to oblige."
"What about Mr. Keller?" Phyllis asked, in a low voice, of her father.
The old man's keen, hard eyes surveyed the stranger. "Who is he? What do you know about him?"
As shortly as she could, she told what she knew of Keller, and how he had rescued her from captivity.
Her father strode forward and shook hands with the young man.
"Make yourself at home, seh. We'll be glad to have you stay with us as long as you can. What you have done for my daughter puts us everlastingly in your debt."
"Not worth mentioning. And, to be fair, I think Weaver was going to bring her home, anyhow."
"The way the story reached me, he didn't mention it until you had the drop on him," answered Sanderson dryly.
"That's right," nodded the cattleman ironically, from the porch. "You're the curly-haired hero, Keller, and I'm the red-headed villain of this play. You want to beware of the miscreant, Miss Sanderson, or he'll sure do you a meanness."