Her frankness, that unhesitating, assured manner of a distinct type of city-bred woman, was new but it over-rode somewhat the embarrassment they all felt.
"My name is Hepburn, ma'am," Dad said and shook hands heavily. "I hope you like this place."
"I know I shall, Mr. Hepburn. And your name?"
"That's Jimmy Oliver, Miss Hunter," Hepburn said.
Two-Bits had watched this with growing confusion and when she turned on him her searching, straightforward glance his freckles became lost in a pink suffusion. He swayed his body from the hips and looked high over her head as he offered a limp hand.
"I'm Mister Beal," he said weakly.
"Don't you believe that!" laughed Hepburn. "That's Two-Bits. He ain't entitled to any frills."
"Two-Bits it is!" the girl cried, scanning his face in amazement at its color and contour. "I couldn't call you mister, Two-Bits. We're going to be too good friends for that!"
"Oh my gosh!" giggled the flustered cowboy and turned away, seeking refuge in the bunkhouse.
"You talk about me bein' got up by a feller that draws pictures, Tom," he said to Beck. "Holy Tin Can, you ought to see her! Why, this feller that paints them girls for these here, now, magazines painted her! She looks like she walked right out of a picture, with blue eyes an' yeller hair an' all pink an' white. An' friendly.... Oh my, I'll bet she makes this outfit take notice!"