Miss Allen laughed and groped for a few loose hairs, found them and tucked them carefully under her hatcrown. Andy remembered that gesture; it helped him to visualize her clearly in spite of the deepening night.
“How far have you ridden today, Mr. Green?” she asked irrelevantly.
“Since daylight, you mean? Not so very far counting miles—We were trailing a herd, you see. But I've been in the saddle since sunrise, except when I was eating.”
“Then you want a cup of coffee, before you ride any farther. If I get down, will you let me make it or you? I'd love to. I'm crazy to see inside your cabin, but I only rode up and tried to peek in the window before you came. I have two brothers and a cousin, so I understand men pretty well and I know you can talk better when you aren't hungry.”
“Are you living on your claim?” he asked again, without moving.
“Why, yes. We moved in last week.”
“Well, we'll ride over, then, and you can make coffee there. I'm not hungry right now.”
“Oh.” She leaned again and peered at him, trying to read his face. “You don't WANT me to go in!”
“Yes, I do—but I don't. If you stayed and made coffee, tomorrow you'd be kicking yourself for it, and you'd be blaming me.” Which, considering the life he had lived, almost wholly among men, was rather astute of Andy Green.
“Oh.” Then she laughed. “You must have some sisters, Mr. Green.” She was silent for a minute, looking at him. “You're right,” she said quietly then. “I'm always making a fool of myself, just on the impulse of the moment. The girls will be worried about me, as it is. But I don't want you to ride any farther, Mr. Green. What I came to say need not take very long, and I think I can find my way home alone, all right.”