us getting too chummy. I’ll come in this afternoon, as I promised.”
Holley climbed into his car. “All right,” he said. “I can wait, I guess. See you later, then.”
Eden was sorry to watch Horace Greeley stagger down the dusty road. Somehow the newspaper man brought a warm, human atmosphere to the ranch, an atmosphere that was needed there. But a moment later he was sorry no longer, for a little speck of brown in the distance became a smart roadster, and at its wheel he saw the girl of the Oasis, Paula Wendell.
He held open the gate, and with a cheery wave of her hand the girl drove past him into the yard.
“Hello,” he said, as she alighted. “I was beginning to fear you weren’t coming.”
“I overslept,” she explained. “Always do, in this desert country. Have you noticed the air? People who are in a position to know tell me it’s like wine.”
“Had a merry breakfast, I suppose?”
“I certainly did. At the Oasis.”
“You poor child. That coffee.”
“I didn’t mind. Will Holley says that Madden’s here.”
“Madden? That’s right—you do want to see Madden, don’t you? Well, come along inside.”
Thorn was alone in the living-room. He regarded the girl with a fishy eye. Not many men could have managed that, but Thorn was different.
“Thorn,” said Eden. “Here’s a young woman who wants to see Mr. Madden.”
“I have a letter from him,” the girl explained, “offering me the use of the ranch to take some pictures. You may remember—I was here Wednesday night.”
