"What is it, Barto?" the little lady asked, turning to the man with the
gun.
The reply was direct and straight to the purpose.
"Excuse _me_; but I jest wanted to ask if you know this here young
feller. He's been allowin' to me th't he is--"
"Of course," she said quickly, and stepping forward she gave her hand
and a welcome to the dazed one. "Please come in; we have been expecting
you." Then again to the man with the Winchester: "Thank you so much,
Barto, for showing the gentleman the way to Wartrace Hall."
It was all done so quietly that Blount was still unconsciously holding
the hand of welcoming while his late captors were riding away down the
cottonwood-shaded avenue. When he realized what he was doing he was as
nearly embarrassed as a self-contained young lawyer could well be. But
his impromptu hostess quickly set him at ease.
"You needn't make any explanations," she hastened to say, smiling up at
him and gently disengaging the hand which he was only now remembering
that he had forgotten to relinquish. "Naturally, I inferred that you
were in trouble, and that your safety depended in some sense upon my
answer. Were you in trouble?"
Blount perceived immediately how utterly impossible it would be to make
her, or any one else, understand the boyish impulse which had prompted
him to leave his train, or the curious difficulty into which the impulse
had precipitated him.
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