“Of course, Rod, whatever you say goes. But all the same there can be no harm in my relieving your uncle’s mind by at least telling him that I’ve heard from you—that you are in good health, and all that sort of thing. But you bet I won’t let out where you are or what you are doing. Oh, I’ll go up in the old chap’s estimation by holding on tight to such a secret. To be absolutely immovable when it would be a breach of confidence to be otherwise is part of a successful young banker’s moral make-up, you understand.”
Roderick laughed, his obduracy broken down by the other’s gay insistence.
“All right, old fellow, we’ll let it go at that But as to my being in Wyoming, remember dead secrecy’s the word. Shake hands on that; my faith in such a talented and discreet young banker is implicit. But now we must join the others or they’ll be thinking us rather rude.”
“That—or the dear girls may be fretting out their hearts on my account. A rich young banker from Iowa doesn’t blow into Encampment every day, you know.” And Whitley Adams laughed with all the buoyant pride of youth, good looks, good health, and good spirits. “Come along, dear boy,” he went on, linking his hand in Roderick’s arm. “We’ll find Lawyer Bragdon, get our introductions, and start fair with the beauteous chatelaine of the cattle range.”
Roderick had heard about Ben Bragdon from Grant Jones, but had not as yet happened to meet the brilliant young attorney who was fast becoming a political factor in the state of Wyoming. So it fell to the chance visitor to the town, Whitley Adams, to make these two townsmen acquainted. Bragdon shook Roderick’s hand with all the cordiality and geniality of a born “mixer” and far-seeing politician. But Whitley cut out all talk and unblushingly demanded that he and his friend should be presented without further delay to General Holden’s daughter.
They found her in company with Barbara Shields who, her duties of receiving over, was now mingling with her guests.
“Miss Holden, let me present you to Mr. Roderick Warfield.” The introducer was Ben Bragdon.
“One of papa’s favorite boys,” added Barbara kindly, “and one of our best riders on the range.”
“As I happen to know,” said Gail Holden; and with a frank smile of recognition she extended her hand. “We have already met in the hills.”
Roderick was blushing. “Yes,” he laughed nervously. “I was stupid enough to offer to help you with a young steer. But I didn’t know then I was addressing such a famous horsewoman and expert with the lariat.”