Part 1 (2/2)
The pool had become black and mysterious, the sky was studded with stars when he called her, and she laboriously drew on her stockings and boots. Well back from the fire he had arranged a seat for her, using a saddle-blanket for a covering, and upon this she lowered herself stiffly. As she did so she took fuller notice of the man, and found his appearance rea.s.suring.
”I suppose you wonder how I--happen to be here,” she said.
”Now don't talk 'til you're rested, miss. This coffee is strong enough to walk on its hands, and I reckon about two cups of it'll rastle you into shape.” As she raised the tin mug to her lips he waved a hand and smiled. ”Drink hearty!” He set a plate of bread and bacon in her lap, then opened a gla.s.s jar of jam. ”Here's the dulces. I've got a sort of sweet tooth in my head. I reckon you'll have to make out with this, 'cause I rode in too late to rustle any fresh meat, and the delivery-wagon won't be 'round before morning.” So saying, he withdrew to the fire.
The woman ate and drank slowly. She was too tired to be hungry, and meanwhile the young man squatted upon his heels and watched her through the smoke from a husk cigarette. It was perhaps fortunate for her peace of mind that she could not correctly interpret his expression, for had she been able to do so she would have realized something of the turmoil into which her presence had thrown him. He was accustomed to meeting men in unexpected places--even in the desert's isolation--but to have a night camp in the chaparral invaded by a young and unescorted woman, to have a foot-sore G.o.ddess stumble out of the dark and collapse into his arms, was a unique experience and one calculated to disturb a person of his solitary habits.
”Have you had your supper?” she finally inquired.
”Who, me? Oh, I'll eat with the help.” He smiled, and when his flas.h.i.+ng teeth showed white against his leathery tan the woman decided he was not at all bad-looking. He was very tall and quite lean, with the long legs of a horseman--this latter feature accentuated by his high-heeled boots and by the short canvas cowboy coat that reached only to his cartridge-belt. His features she could not well make out, for the fire was little more than a bed of coals, and he fed it, Indian-like, with a twig or two at a time.
”I beg your pardon. I'm selfish.” She extended her cup and plate as an invitation for him to share their contents. ”Please eat with me.”
But he refused. ”I ain't hungry,” he affirmed. ”Honest!”
Accustomed as she was to the diffidence of ranch-hands, she refrained from urging him, and proceeded with her repast. When she had finished she lay back and watched him as he ate sparingly.
”My horse fell crossing the Arroyo Grande,” she announced, abruptly.
”He broke a leg, and I had to shoot him.”
”Is there any water in the Grande?” asked the man.
”No. They told me there was plenty. I knew of this charco, so I made for it.”
”Who told you there was water in the arroyo?”
”Those Mexicans at the little-goat ranch.”
”Balli. So you walked in from Arroyo Grande. Lord! It's a good ten miles straightaway, and I reckon you came crooked. Eh?”
”Yes. And it was very hot. I was never here but once, and--the country looks different when you're afoot.”
”It certainly does,” the man nodded. Then he continued, musingly: ”No water there, eh? I figured there might be a little.” The fact appeared to please him, for he nodded again as he went on with his meal. ”Not much rain down here, I reckon.”
”Very little. Where are you from?”
”Me? Hebbronville. My name is Law.”
Evidently, thought the woman, this fellow belonged to the East outfit, or some of the other big cattle-ranches in the Hebbronville district.
Probably he was a range boss or a foreman. After a time she said, ”I suppose the nearest ranch is that Balli place?”
”Yes'm.”
”I'd like to borrow your horse.”
Mr. Law stared into his plate. ”Well, miss, I'm afraid--”
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