Ben Blair

Scotty dropped his feet from the railing and advanced to the steps. "Hello, Ben Blair!" he said.

The visitor paused and smiled. "How do you do, Mr. Baker?" he answered. "I thought I'd find you along here somewhere." He swung up the short walk, and, mounting the steps, grasped the Englishman's extended hand. For a moment the two said nothing. Then Scotty motioned to a chair. "Sit down, won't you?" he invited.

Ben stood as he was. The smile left his face. "Would you really--like me to?" he asked directly.

"I really would, or I wouldn't have asked you," Scotty returned, with equal directness.

Ben took the proffered chair, and crossed his legs comfortably. The two sat for a moment in silent companionship.

"Tell me about Rankin," suggested Scotty at last.

Ben did so. It did not take long, for he scarcely mentioned himself, and quite omitted that last incident of which Grannis had been witness.

"And--the man who shot him?" Scotty found it a bit difficult to put the query into words.

"They swung him a few days later. Things move rather fast out there when they move at all."

"Were 'they' the cowboys?"

"No, the sheriff and the rest. It was all regular--scarcely any spectators, even, I heard."

"And now about yourself. Shall you be in the city long?"

"I hardly know. I came partly on business--but that won't take me long." He looked at his host significantly. "I also had another purpose in coming."

Scotty moved uncomfortably in his seat. "Ben," he said at last, "I'd like to ask you to stay with us if I could, but--" he paused, looking cautiously in at the open door--"but Mollie, you know--It would mean the dickens' own time with her."

Ben showed neither surprise nor resentment. "Thank you," he replied. "I understand. I couldn't have accepted had you invited me. Let's not consider it."

Again the seat which usually fitted the Englishman so well grew uncomfortable. He was conscious that through the curtains of the library window some one was watching him and the new-comer. He had a mortal dread of a scene, and one seemed inevitable.

"How's the old ranch?" he asked evasively.

"It's just as you left it. I haven't got the heart somehow to change anything. We use up a good many horses one way and another during a year, and when I get squared around I'm going to start a herd there with one of the boys to look after it. It was Rankin's idea too."

"You expect to keep on ranching, then?"

"Why not?"

"I thought, perhaps, now that you had plenty to do with--You're young, you know."