“Then you shall put it on the horse’s neck in front of me, or I’ll hop down this instant. It’s bad enough to appropriate your horse without making you carry my saddle as well.”
Seeing her so determined, he, with a slight show of reluctance, placed the saddle on the neck of his horse, who after a shake or two submitted to the burden, and so they eventually turned homewards.
“I suppose you are not surprised that we settlers out here take considerable interest in your experiment in communism,” remarked the man as they walked along.
“No doubt anything out of the common excites comment,” said Olive guardedly, “but I should not have thought you could be classed as a settler out here. I have seen a good many, and know the type.”
She felt interested in the man and curious to know who he was, he seemed so utterly different from all those she had hitherto met.
“I have lived here, nevertheless, for some years now. I have a farm on the north side of Big Cotton Wood Creek. My name is Cotterell. Have you ever heard it?”
“No, I never heard the name, but then I’ve only been here a very short time, only two months. I—that is, we came in May,” said Olive blushing somewhat.
The stranger smiled a winning smile and looked up at her face as he answered,
“I see you have only just come, and come as a bride to Perfection City. It has a very suitable sound in that connection.”
He again lifted his hat, and Olive blushed more vividly still.