"I see," interrupted Bent, carelessly. "You don't want anything said
about your coming here. I won't."

It struck her that he seemed to have no ulterior meaning in the
suggestion. But before she could make any reply, Dawson reappeared,
driving a handsome mare harnessed to a light, spider-like vehicle. He
had also assumed, evidently in great haste, a black frock coat buttoned
over his waistcoatless and cravatless shirt, and a tall black hat that
already seemed to be cracking in the sunlight. He drove up, at once
assisted her to the narrow perch beside him, and with a nod to Bent
drove off. His breathless expedition relieved the leave-taking of these
young people of any ceremony.

"I suppose," said Mr. Dawson, giving a half glance over his shoulder as
they struck into the dusty highway,--"I suppose you don't care to see
anybody before you get to San Jose?"

"No-o-o," said Rose, timidly.

"And I reckon you wouldn't mind my racin' a bit if anybody kem up?"

"No."

"The mare's sort o' fastidious about takin' anybody's dust."

"Is she?" said Rose, with a faint smile.

"Awful," responded her companion; "and the queerest thing of all is, she
can't bear to have any one behind her, either."