"Seen any strays round here, ma'am?" he asked, lifting his hat. "I'm looking for one."
"Strays? Horses, you mean?" Harry stammered.
The sound of the stranger's voice had recalled something to the girl's mind. She had seen this man before. His voice, his smooth, freckled face, his blue eyes—she knew them. She blushed with confusion, for the young man was looking at her intently.
"I don't believe there've been any strays here," she said. "My brother might know."
"Your brother down at the tent yonder?"
"No, not now. He's gone off with—with another man."
"You ain't got no horses of your own here that mine could ha' got in with?"
"No—yes—I mean we're boarding some horses, but they're colts and inside the pasture, and I'm sure there are no strays among them."
The stranger had dismounted and, leading his horse, was walking beside her.