The Sheriff's Son
"I'd have a fine chance with you three young rowdies in the house," she retorted derisively. "Where's dad?"
As if in answer to her question the door opened to let in a big, middle-aged rancher with a fine shock of grizzled hair and heavy black eyebrows. Beulah went through the formula of introduction again, but without it Beaudry would have known this hawk-nosed man whose gaze bored into his. The hand he offered to Hal Rutherford was cold and clammy. A chill shiver passed through him.
The young woman went on swiftly to tell how her guest had rescued her from the wolf trap and walked home beside her while she rode his horse.
"I 'll send for Doc Spindler and have him look at your ankle, honey," the father announced at once.
"Oh, it's all right—bruised up a bit—that's all," Beulah objected.
"We 'll make sure, Boots. Slap a saddle on and ride for the Doc, Hal." When the young man had left the room, his father turned again to Roy. His arm gathered in the girl beside him. "We 're sure a heap obliged to you, Mr. Street. It was right lucky you happened along."
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