Leaning on that rail, watching him, stood a woman.
He had not heard her approach, but she was there, and seemed to have been there several minutes. She was slatternly, frowsy-haired, olive-skinned, with Indian cheek-bones and black eyes; garbed in a shapeless, faded dress, and barefoot. Yet she was quite young and not without a sensuous comeliness. Now, meeting his surprised gaze, she slowly smiled as if she had found her survey of him rather pleasing.
“Howdy,” he said coolly. “Where did you spring from?”
Her smile widened, revealing the fact that two of her front teeth had been knocked out.
“Kind o’ caught ye nappin’, hey?” she drawled. “Was ye waitin’ for somebody?”
He puffed a couple of times before replying, meanwhile observing that her gaze went a little beyond him to the gun-barrels glistening in the sun.
“Nope. If I were, I wouldn’t be sitting here in plain sight.”
She nodded with a bovine air of wisdom.
“Tha’s right,” she agreed. “But what ye lookin’ for? Ther’ ain’t nawthin’ along o’ here.”
“Well, now, let’s see. If I’m looking for anything, it’s for the place where this brook starts.”