In the cattle country a visitor asked to dismount, makes camp or house his home, never suggesting by word or glance a doubt that he is welcome to water, pasturage, food, shelter, and warmth, so long as he needs to stay. I had not invited this man to dismount.
Judged by these signs—chivalry, reticence, courtesy—Mrs. O'Flynn's guest was not a cow-boy. His florid manners, exaggerated politeness, and imitation of our middle-class English speech stamped him bounder, but not of the British breed. Later, in moments of excitement, he spoke New York, with a twang of music-hall.
Even in so lonely a place it is curious to remember that such a person should appeal to me. Still in his common way the man had beauty, carried his clothes well, moved with grace. So much the artist in me saw and liked, but I think no woman could have seen those tragic eyes without being influenced.
"Ah! Mrs. Smith, I believe?" He stood uncovered. "May I venture to ask if your husband is at home? I think I had the pleasuah of knowing him years ago down in Texas."
"He'll be back by noon."
"Thank you, madam. Fact is, we were very much surprised to see your chimney smoke. We thought this exquisite place was quite unoccupied. Indeed!"
"Who's 'we'?"
"Oh, we're the outfit riding for General Schmidt. We've come in search of the spring feed. We were informed that Ponder's place was unoccupied, open to all. Am I mistaken in supposing that this is Ponder's place?"
"It is."
"Er—may I venture to ask if your husband holds squatter's rights, or has the homestead and preemption?"