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In a far corner stood a work-bench, with tools upon it and horse
trappings under it. In the opposite corner a door led into the kitchen. This
room was Bostil's famous living-room, in which many things had happened, some
of which had helped make desert history and were never mentioned by Bostil.
Bostil's sister came in from the kitchen. She was a huge person with a severe
yet motherly face. She had her hands on her hips, and she cast a rather
disapproving glance at father and daughter.
"So you're back again?" she queried, severely.
"Sure, Auntie," replied the girl, complacently.
"You ran off to get out of seeing Wetherby, didn't you?"
Lucy stared sweetly at her aunt.
"He was waiting for hours," went on the worthy woman. "I never saw a man in
such a stew. . . . No wonder, playing fast and loose with him the way you do."
"I told him No!" flashed Lucy.
"But Wetherby's not the kind to take no. And I'm not satisfied to let you mean
it. Lucy Bostil, you don't know your mind an hour straight running. You've
fooled enough with these riders of your Dad's.


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