Avoiding the main road, she pushed into a narrow track that intersected
another nearer the scene of the accident to Rose's buggy three weeks
before. She had nearly passed it when she was hailed by a strange voice,
and looking up, perceived a horseman floundering in the mazes of the
wheat to one side of the track. Whatever mean thought of her past life
she was flying from, whatever mean purpose she was flying to, she pulled
up suddenly, and as suddenly resumed her erect, aggressive stiffness.
The stranger was a middle-aged man; in dress and appearance a dweller of
cities. He lifted his hat as he perceived the occupant of the wagon to
be a lady.
"I beg your pardon, but I fear I've lost my way in trying to make a
short cut to the Excelsior Company's Ranch."
"You are in it now," said Mrs. Randolph, quickly.
"Thank you, but where can I find the farmhouse?"
"There is none," she returned, with her old superciliousness, "unless
you choose to give that name to the shanties and sheds where the
laborers and servants live, near the road.
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