“You’re welcome, Mr. Tresler,” he said, in a low, gentle tone. “I knew you were here some time ago.”
Tresler was astonished at the quiet refinement of his voice. He had grown so accustomed to the high, raucous twang of the men of these wilds that it came as a surprise to him.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he answered cheerily. “Miss Marbolt told me you were sleeping, and——”
“You didn’t disturb me—at least, not in the way you mean. You see, I have developed a strange sensitiveness—a sort of second sight,” he laughed a little bitterly. “I awoke by instinct the moment you approached the house, and heard you come in. The loss of one sense, you see, has made others more acute. Well, well, so you have come to learn ranching? Diane”—the blind man turned to his daughter—“describe Mr. Tresler to me. What does he look like? Forgive me, my dear sir,” he went on, turning with unerring instinct to the other. “I glean a perfect knowledge of those about me in this way.”
“Certainly.” The object of the blind man’s interest smiled over at the girl.
Diane hesitated in some confusion.
“Go on, child,” her father said, with a touch of impatience in his manner.
Thus urged she began. “Mr. Tresler is tall. Six feet. Broad-shouldered.”
The man’s red, staring eyes were bent on his pupil with a steady persistency.