Alaire turned a quick glance upon the speaker to find his face set and his eyes miserable. Impulsively she laid her hand upon his arm, saying:
"I know how you must feel. Do you know what has always been my dearest wish? To be able to talk with animals; and to have them trust me. Just think what fun it would be to talk with the wild things and make friends of them. Oh, when I was a little girl I used to dream about it!"
Law nodded his vigorous appreciation of such a desire. "Dogs and horses sabe more than we give them credit for. I've learned a few bird words, too. You remember those quail at the water-hole?"
"Oh yes."
Dave smiled absent-mindedly. "There's a wonderful book about birds—one of the keenest satires ever written, I reckon. It's about a near-sighted old Frenchman who was cast away on a penguin island. He saw the big birds walking around and thought they were human beings."
"How did you happen to read Anatole France?" Alaire asked, with a sharp stare of surprise.
The Ranger stirred, but he did not meet her eyes. "Well," said he, "I read 'most anything I can get. A feller meets up with strange books just like he meets up with strange people."
"Not books like—that." There was a brief silence. "Mr. Law, every now and then you say something that makes me think you're a—rank impostor."
"Pshaw!" said he. "I know cowboys that read twice as good as I do."
"You went to school in the East, didn't you?"