She watched him swing gracefully into the saddle of a clean-limbed horse and gallop swiftly into the gloom.
“Well, I’ll be—” began Jac.
She checked herself. An instinct which was born with Eve made her raise a hand to pat her hair.
She began again: “I must look like—” Once more she stopped, this time with a sigh. “What words are left?” murmured Jacqueline.
Carrigan pulled his horse up before the barber shop in the little village a mile away. He banged thunderously against the wall of the shanty with his gun-butt.
“What the hell!” roared a voice above.
“Business,” said Carrigan. “Come on down and open your shop.”
A few moments later he sat down in the chair while the barber lighted his lamp. The latter groaned when he saw the face of his customer.
“How much?”
“The price of your best razor,” said Carrigan instantly. “Now start—chop off the heavy timber, saw down the undergrowth, anything to clear the land. And do it on the jump.”