"Sugar is it? Why didn't ye say so befo'?"
Jones turned her good eye on the man as though she had just discovered his existence, hobbled briskly after him while he dug in his kitchen boxes, made first grab at the sugar bag, and got her face slapped. The man, always with his eye upon the mare, returned to his place, and sat on his heel as before. "Three lumps," he said, holding them one by one to be snatched. "You're acting sort of convalescent, Jones. No more sugar. And don't be a hawg!"
The mare was kissing his face.
"Back of all! Back water! Thar now, thank the lady behind me!"
And I had imagined my presence still unknown.
"How on earth," I gasped, "did you know I was here?"
The man's eyes were still intent upon the wounded mare. "Wall, Mrs. Trevor," he drawled.
"You know my name? Your back has been turned the whole time! You've never seen me in your life—at least I've never seen you!"
"That's so," he answered thoughtfully. "I don't need tellin' the sound of that colt yo' husband bought from me. As to the squeak of a lady's pigskin saddle, thar ain't no other lady rider short of a hundred and eighty-three and a half miles."
What manner of man could this be? My colt was drawing toward him all the time as though a magnet pulled.