Sevier, as if divining the cause, said—“There is not in the State of Texas a man possessed of more good, sound horse-sense than Tim Watson, nor a more honest financier.”
“I believe it,” Jack answered.
The subject of their discussion then appeared with the announcement that he was ready, and they soon arrived at the home of Miss De Vere, the aforementioned kinswoman of Jack.
Like most of the residences of the better class, it was built of native stone with a broad piazza, or “gallery,” extending around three sides of the house. Miss De Vere was busily engaged in her flower garden when Watson espied her, and in a stentorian voice called out,—“Howdy, Miss De Vere!”
Miss De Vere was apparently about sixty years of age, and as she graciously welcomed them, Jack was struck with the resemblance to his father’s family. Evidently she, too, saw the De Vere characteristics in Jack, for laying her hands on his shoulders she said meditatively,—“Strange the tenacity of race. Our type is a particularly strong one and distinctly perpetuated. John, too, is a name we cling to. All the De Veres in this country came from one common stock, and we need not be ashamed of one of our kin.”
“How about the one up last month for horse-stealing!” said Watson with a sly wink at Jack. But apparently his question was unheard and she ushered them into a wide hall extending entirely through the house.
She noticed sadly another trait in Jack, the tendency to pulmonary trouble, and her heart warmed toward this newly found kinsman.
Jack, too, felt greatly drawn towards her and was unconsciously led to talk about himself, his object in leaving home and his family. She earnestly pressed him to make his home with her during his stay in Austin, but as it would now be short and his belongings were at the hotel, he gratefully declined, promising to do so on his way home. His intentions were to take the next day’s stage for Fredericksburgh, so, after a most enjoyable time with Miss De Vere, they left. Jack’s heart was very tender as he received her good wishes and good-bye. “Truly,” he thought, “this world is very small,” and, turning, caught Watson eyeing him keenly.
“So you knew Andrew Genung?” he said, divining the latter’s glance of sympathy.
“You bet I did, and I’ll be doggoned if it don’t make me homesick to think of them good old days in the Rockies!”