“You’re welcome to the Flyin’ W,” said the man, breaking an awkward silence. “Tom Chavis is special glad to see a pretty woman around these parts.”
She felt, in his eyes more than his words, a veiled significance. She reddened a little, but met his gaze fairly, her eyes unwavering.
“Who is Tom Chavis?” she asked.
“I’m reckonin’ to be Tom Chavis,” he said, studying her. He waved a hand toward the other man, not looking at him. “This is my friend Jim Pickett. We was foreman an’ straw boss, respective, under Bill Harkness.”
She could not help wishing that her uncle had discharged the two men before his death. She was wondering a little at Masten’s silence; it seemed to her that he must see her embarrassment, and that he might relieve her of the burden of this conversation. She looked quickly at him; he appeared to be unconcernedly inspecting the ranchhouse. Perhaps, after all, there was nothing wrong with these men. Certainly, being a man himself, Masten should be able to tell.
And so she felt a little more at ease.
“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Chavis,” she said. “Your friend Mr. Pickett too.” She indicated Masten with a nod of her head toward him. “This is Mr. Willard Masten, a very dear friend of mine.” The color in her face deepened with the words.
Chavis had looked twice at Masten before Ruth spoke. He looked again now, meeting the Easterner’s eyes. Chavis had been ready to sneer at Masten because of his garments—they were duplicates of those he had worn before the ducking, and quite as immaculate—but something in the Easterner’s eyes kept the sneer back; his own eyes gleamed with a quick, comprehensive fire, and he smiled. In the buckboard, fresh from that civilization which Chavis was ready to scorn, he had recognized a kindred spirit. There was exultation in his voice when he spoke, and he reached over Ruth to grasp Masten’s hand.
“An’ so this is Willard, a very dear friend of yourn, eh? Well, now, I’m sure glad, an’ I reckon him an’ me will get on.” He urged Pickett forward and introduced him, and Pickett gave Masten one quick, appraising glance. Then he, too, grinned.
Ruth was gratified. These men were rough, but they had been quick to recognize and appreciate Masten’s good qualities. They had gone more than half way in welcoming him. Of course, there was Chavis’ bold allusion to a “pretty woman,” but the very uncouthness of the men must be the explanation for that breach of etiquette. She was much relieved.