They stood so in reality only a flash of seconds, though it seemed a continuous stare of minutes to both; then the humorous side of the situation appealed to the girl, and her lips twitched ever so slightly as she recovered her speech first and said demurely:
"Good morning, sir."
"How are you?" he returned; and having regained the use of his tongue, he added, in an easier way: "You'll excuse me, lady, if I sort of scared you?"
"Oh, no, I was not at all startled," she answered hastily, "only a little surprised."
"Yes," he agreed, "so was I. That's why I stood there a-staring at you—couldn't just make out if you were real or a ghost, though I never before saw even the ghost of a white woman in this region."
"And you were watching to see if I would vanish into thin air like a Macbeth witch, were you?" she asked quizzically.
He might be on his native heath and she an interloper, but she was much the most at her ease—evidently a young lady of adaptability and considerable self-possession. His eyes had grown wavering and uncertain in their glances, and that flush made him still look awkward, and she wondered if Macbeth's witches were not unheard-of individuals to him, and she noticed with those direct, comprehensive eyes that a suit of buckskin can be wonderfully becoming to tall, lazy-looking men, and that wide, light sombreros have quite an artistic effect as a frame for dark hair and eyes; and through that decision she heard him say:
"No. I wasn't watching you for anything special, only if you were a real woman, I reckoned you were prospecting around looking for the trail, and—and so I just waited to see, knowing you were a stranger."
"And is that all you know about me?" she asked mischievously. "I know much more than that about you."
"How much?"