“Doin’ what?”
“Well—now—riding, mostly.”
Manzanita could not read the message of the inscrutable black eyes now turned upon her. Somehow, though, she felt uncomfortable, and hastened to ask:
“Do you live in this van?”
“Yes, I do. I sleep in here. We back it up to th’ cook tent. Hejupah, ole Ned! Ain’t this here sand fierce? Guess I’ll let ’em blow a mite.”
She pulled in gradually on the six lines, and the mules stood heaving.
“I guess I ought to walk,” observed Manzanita.
“Oh, your weight don’t add nothin’ much. They’ll be all right when we get outa this sand an’ hit that dry lake over there. Do you like this country?”
“I love it! Don’t you think it’s pretty?”
“Purty dry an’ purty sandy. How’s Mangan-Hatton gettin’ on with their job?”