She was inside the enclosure formed by the fence, and he outside. She turned on him eyes which set Drazk’s pulses strangely a-tingle, and subjected him to a deliberate but not unfriendly inspection.
“No, I don’t believe he did,” she said at length. Drazk cautiously approached, as though wondering how near he could come without frightening her away. He reached the fence and leaned his elbows on it. She showed no disposition to move. He cautiously raised one foot and rested it on the lower rail.
“It’s a fine morning, ma’am,” he ventured.
“Rather,” she replied. “Why aren’t you with Mr. Transley’s gang?”
The question gave George an opening. “Well, you see,” he said, “it’s all on account of that Pete-horse. That’s him down there. I rode away this morning and plumb forgot his blanket. So when Mr. Transley seen it he says, ‘Drazk, take the day off an’ go back for your blanket,’ he says. ‘There’s no hurry,’ he says. ‘Linder an’ me’ll manage,’ he says.”
“Oh!”
“So here I am.” He glanced at her again. She was showing no disposition to run away. She was about two yards from him, along the fence. Drazk wondered how long it would take him to bridge that distance. Even as he looked she leaned her elbows on the fence and rested one of her feet on the lower rail. Drazk fancied he saw the muscles about her mouth pulling her face into little, laughing curves, but she was gazing soberly into the distance.
“He’s some horse, that Pete-horse,” he said, taking up the subject which lay most ready to his tongue. “He’s sure some horse.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Yep,” Drazk continued. “Him an’ me has seen some times. Whew! Things I couldn’t tell you about, at all.”