“Almost anything, provided it is hearty and there is enough of it, madam.”
“I’ve got some antelope steak and corn cakes, and I’ll boil some potatoes if you want ’em.”
“That will do admirably. But where did you get antelope meat? You didn’t shoot the animal yourself?”
“No, my man shot him.”
That settled the question that had arisen in Gerald’s mind. The woman had a husband.
“I might have known that you didn’t shoot him yourself.”
“And maybe you’d be mistaken. I’ve dropped more’n one fine antelope, if I am a woman—Bess, bring me my rifle.”
Bess, undoubtedly the woman’s daughter, was quite a contrast to her thin, bony mother, for, though not over the average height of women, she would easily have tipped the scales at a hundred and eighty pounds. She had a round, fat face, rather vacant in expression, but good-natured, and in that respect much more attractive than her mother’s. She brought out a large rifle, which her mother took from her and raised to her shoulder in fine, sportsmanlike fashion.
“Please don’t mistake me for antelope, madam,” said Noel Brooke hastily.