"Yes, but it's a wonder," Jones replied. "The road's so crooked comin' through the hills that a fellow meets hisself comin' back three times on the way over."
"Did you bring in the horses?"
"Sure. I've got 'em in those trees up yonder. Thought I'd better see you before I put 'em in the corral." He shot a quick glance at Rob.
"No, you don't want 'em there. I've got the glen fenced. There are so many trees in there that it will be cool and protected for the colts, too. Well, let's have dinner, sis; I'm hungry enough to chew nails."
"You'll have just time to wash while I'm dishing up," Harry reminded him.
She had taken pains to set the table attractively—with clean napkins from her little store of linen, with the butter on butter plates, and with a glass of water at each place.
After much splashing outside, Rob reappeared. "Now for grub!" he exclaimed, slumping down on the cracker box. "Come along!" he cried to Jones, who, standing before the looking-glass, was carefully parting his glossy black hair. "Your top's all right."
"You certainly didn't bother to brush yours," Harry said, with a glance at Rob's wet and rumpled hair.
"Oh, it'll do!" Rob hastily smacked his hair flat. "Come along, Jones. That's the trouble with these Western financiers," he added in a loud aside to Harry. "They think too much of their looks." He glanced round the table. "This all the beans you've got, sis?" he asked, eying apprehensively the small dish in which Harry had served the beans.
"No." Harry pointed to the saucepan on the stove.