"'Bout time I knew how to ride. Been ridin' sence I was a two-year-ole."
He offered another sally that brought forth the young laughter that so rejoiced his ears:
"Say, didn't you notice that I'm a bowleg?"
Nettie looked at the brilliantly clad legs in their orange-colored fur chapps, under which their shape was utterly hidden. Their eyes met and again they burst out laughing as if they had just heard the funniest joke in the world.
They had turned now into the road allowance which ran directly up to where the log cabin stood on the edge of the land. Something in the stillness, the solitary look of that lone cabin planted on the bare floor of the prairie sobered them, and they looked at the house with apprehension. Inside, they knew, was an English woman—a "lady" had said the doctor, and she was very sick.
Silently they dismounted. Dr. McDermott walked ahead of the trio, the cowpuncher leading his horse and keeping close to the girl.
As they stepped into the dim shadows of the bare room, the figure on the hard, home-made bed sat up suddenly. The face was thin and pinched, with spots of hectic color on either high cheek-bone. The woman's bright eyes were fixed upon them, full of suspicion and fierce challenging. Her hair had been cut to the scalp; jagged and unlovely it covered her head in grotesque tufts as if forcing its way out despite the murderous shears. Crouched against the wall, she looked strangely like some wild thing at bay.
Nettie's first impulse of shock and fear gave way to one of overwhelming pity as she moved toward the bed. The bright, defiant eyes met her own, and the woman moistened her dry lips:
"What do you want in my house? Who are you?"
"I'm Nettie Day," said the girl simply, "and I just want to help you."