By the time the women were stirring that morning, Follett galloped up on his horse. Prudence saw him from the doorway as he turned in from the main road, sitting his saddle with apparent carelessness, his arms loose from the shoulders, shifting lightly with the horse’s motion, as one who had made the center of gravity his slave. It was a style of riding that would have made a scandal in any riding-school; but it seemed to be well calculated for the quick halts, sudden swerves, and acute angles affected by the yearling steer in his moments of excitement.
He dismounted, glowing from his bath in the icy water of the creek and from the headlong gallop up from Beil Wardle’s corral.
“Good morning, Miss Prudence.”
“Good morning, Mr. Follett. Will you take breakfast with us directly?”
“Yes, and it can’t be too directly for me. I’m wolfish. Miss Prudence, your pa and me had some talk last night, and I’m going to bunk in with you all for awhile, till I get some business fixed up.”
She smiled with unaffected gladness, and he noticed that her fresh morning colour was like that of the little wild roses he had lately brushed the dew from along the creek.
“We shall be glad to have you.”
“It’s right kind of you; I’m proud to hear you say so.” He had taken off the saddle with its gay coloured Navajo blanket, and the bridle of plaited rawhide with its conchos and its silver bit. Now he rubbed the back of his horse where the saddle had been, ending with a slap that sent the beast off with head down and glad heels in the air.
“There now, Dandy! don’t bury your ribs too deep under that new grass.”
“My father will be glad to have you and Dandy stay a long time.”