“Where’d you come from?” was his inhospitable greeting.
“I’m riding to Britton,” answered Mary. (Shirttail Henry had coached her.) “I wanted to know if I couldn’t buy something to eat and a feed for my horse.”
“Who are ye?”
“My name is Winifred Allison.” (Mary always wished she had been born Winifred Allison. Most of us have pet names that we wish our parents had had the sense to bestow on us. Winifred Allison was Mary’s.)
“Where ye from?”
“Fresno.”
“I mean jest now.”
“Oh! I’ve been riding through the mountains from Glenning.”
“Glennin’! That’s a hundred an’ fifty miles t’other side o’ th’ range, woman!”
“I’m not disputing that, man!” Mary snapped back. “I’m telling you that I rode from Glenning here, on my way to Britton. What’s the odds? Can you sell me some dinner and a feed of hay for the horse?”