incidentally cleaning up on the ranch bully—that he had been promoted to be second in command under Hoover over that particular bunch of cattle and cattlemen.
As a general thing when he rode into Burt City, he wore a demoralized broad-brimmed hat, a flannel shirt that showed signs of hard usage, and fringed leather chaps. But now, as he stood in the front of the express office, he wore a sack suit of excellent cut and quality, and a straw hat. His was an appearance to delight the eye, so quiet and masterful and good looking was he.
"I thought the boys would kill me before I got away from the ranch," said Ruthven. "They tried to pull me out of the buckboard and muss me up, and we had a high old time generally; but," he added happily, "I didn't lose so much as a horn button."
"What's the cause of it all?" inquired Summerfield.
"Somebody asked me to do this; somebody whose word is law. Come to supper with me, Joe, and I'll tell you all about it. I want you to help."
"Come in at six, then, and we'll go to 'Ham-And's' for a feed. I've got to work to-night, though."
"Got to? I was hoping"
"Somebody will be around here to check up the office before very long, and his word comes pretty near being law, too. I've got to be ready for him, Ruthven.
"Oh, well," said the other, "I can talk with you about this business of mine, anyhow. If you've no objections, I'll just sit here and read the paper until you're ready."
Summerfield gave him an easy-chair back of the counter; then he went to take the Barton package back to the storeroom, but changed his mind and decided to leave it out in front for further examination when he could find leisure.
Shortly before six, Reeves got back from the railroad station with a small truckload of stuff from the west. He would have taken the Barton package to the storeroom for the night, but the agent told him to leave it where it was.
"All right," agreed the driver cheerfully; "but it won't get any heavier there by the counter, Joe."
Hamilton Andrew Leffingwell owned and operated the best restaurant in Burt City. His place was known far and wide as "Ham-And's," which proved how harmony sometimes runs between a man's name and his business. To this place Ruthven and Summerfield repaired for a raid upon the bill of fare, getting a corner table where they could talk for their own benefit and not for that of Ham-And's other patrons.
"It's like this, Summerfield," confided Ruthven, as they ate. "You're pretty well acquainted with Miss Lois McKenzie, and I want an introduction."
Summerfield's heart grew faint. What chance would he have in the race for the hand of the fair Lois with that big, handsome Easterner pitted against him? "What's the idea?" he asked.
"A friend of mine—a very good friend of mine"—and Ruthven's gray eyes glowed brightly as he said it—"has written and asked me to call on Miss McKenzie. I know Miss McKenzie's father, in a way, but I would rather meet the young lady through you."
"Who is the friend that suggested this?" inquired Summerfield.
Ruthven drew a seal leather photograph case from the left inside pocket of his coat, opened it reverently, and held a lovely pictured face before the eyes of his friend. "The sweetest little girl in the world," he declared, with fine feeling, "and whenever she asks a favor of me it is as good as done. That is Miss Gwendolyn Arnold, Summerfield."
As the express agent peered into the beaming, earnest face across the table, all his vague fears took instant flight. Ruthven would not—could not—prove
