"How long has Fred been with you?—he never mentioned you in his letters."
"Why, it's about a year since we took the lease." Kelley began to grow hot under her keen eyes.
"Strange he never wrote of you. He seems very proud of you, too."
Kelley looked out of the window. "We get along first rate."
The girl studied his fine profile attentively. "I'm glad he fell in with a strong man like you—an experienced miner. He might have made a mistake and lost all his small fortune. My! but it's fine up here! What's that wonderful snowy range off there?"
"That's the Sangre de Cristo Range."
"Sangre de Cristo—Blood of Christ! Those old Spaniards had a lot of poetry in them, didn't they?"
"I reckon so—and a whole lot of stiffening, too. You go through the Southwest and see the country they trailed over—the hot, dry places and the quicksands and cañons and all that. They sure made them Injuns remember when they passed by."
"You know that country?"
"I may say I do. It was my parade-ground for about fifteen years. I roamed over most of it. It's a fine country."