The stranger again took off his hat, as if this were an introduction.
“I have seen your husband then, a magnificent specimen of manhood, to judge from the only example I had of his physical strength.”
Olive felt at once mollified. Meanwhile, the stranger had shortened the stirrup-leathers of his horse, and turning to Olive he said,
“And now, Mrs. Weston, allow me to give you a hand up to mount you on my big horse. He is quite gentle and I will hold the bridle.”
Olive hesitated. “I don’t like to take your horse,” she said. “If you would be so kind as to leave the saddle——”
“No, no, you must not deprive me of the pleasure of your company,” interposed the stranger. “We will manage the saddle all right. Just spring up. Your riding-habit is admirably adapted for prairie life, and the prettiest I ever saw. Pardon my bluntness, but I am so little used to society, I fear I am very rough.”
“You don’t fear anything of the sort,” replied Olive quickly. “You are perfectly aware that your manners are infinitely superior to the article in general use hereabouts.”
The man laughed pleasantly at this sally. “Well, let me amend my pleading,” said he, “and say, it is so long since I met a lady in these wilds, and that is true enough, Heaven knows!”
Olive mounted the big horse with the dextrous help of his hand and signed to him to give her the saddle.
“I couldn’t think of it,” said he, thrusting his arm under the saddle and hoisting it on to his shoulder. “It would be unspeakably uncomfortable for you to hold, with the stirrups whacking you at every step.”