As the big racing car, gathering speed at every throb of its powerful motor, swept toward the hill, a small boy, but little more than a toddling baby, escaped from his mother, who, with the excited throng, was crowding against the rope barrier, and before those whose eyes were fixed on the automobile noticed, the child was in the street, fairly in the path of the approaching machine.  A sudden hush fell on the shouting multitude.  Helen, through the field glasses, could see even the child’s face, as, laughing gleefully, he looked back when his mother screamed.  Stricken with horror, the young woman could not lower her glasses.  Fascinated, she watched.  The people seemed, for an instant, paralyzed.  Not a soul moved or uttered a sound.  Would the driver of the racing car swerve aside from his course in time?  If he did, would the baby, in sudden fright, dodge in front of the machine?  Then Helen saw the cowboy who had so interested her lean forward in his saddle and strike his spurs deep in the flanks of his already restless horse.  With a tremendous bound the animal cleared the rope barrier, and in an instant was leaping toward the child and the approaching car.  The people gasped at the daring of the man who had not waited to think.  It was over in a second.  As Patches swept by the child, he leaned low from the saddle; and, as the next leap of his horse carried him barely clear of the machine, they saw his tall, lithe body straighten, as he swung the baby up into his arms.

Then, indeed, the crowd went wild.  Men yelled and cheered; women laughed and cried; and, as the cowboy returned the frightened baby to the distressed mother, a hundred eager hands were stretched forth to greet him.  But the excited horse backed away; someone raised the rope barrier, and Patches disappeared down the side street.

Helen’s eyes were wet, but she was smiling.  “No,” she said softly to Kitty and Stanford, “that was not Lawrence Knight.  Poor old Larry never could have done that.”

It was a little after the noon hour when Kitty, who, with her father, mother and brothers, had been for dinner at the home of one of their Prescott friends, was crossing the plaza on her way to join Mr. and Mrs. Manning, with whom she was to spend the afternoon.  In a less frequented corner of the little park, back of the courthouse, she saw Patches.  The cowboy, who had changed from his ranch costume to a less picturesque business garb, was seated alone on one of the benches that are placed along the walks, reading a letter.  With his attention fixed upon the letter, he did not notice Kitty as she approached.  And the girl, when she first caught sight of him, paused for an instant; then she went toward him slowly, studying him with a new interest.

She was quite near when, looking up, he saw her.  Instantly he rose to his feet, slipped the letter into his pocket, and stood before her, hat in hand, to greet her with genuine pleasure and with that gentle courtesy which always marked his bearing.  And Kitty, as she looked up at him, felt, more convincingly than ever, that this man would be perfectly at ease in the most exacting social company.