Had Ethel not been running with her head bent to the wind she would have noticed the changed appearance of the shanty to which they were hastening. But as it was, she rushed blindly forward, up the steps, and pushed open the door, Dorothy close by her side. Once across the threshold she stopped in amazement, while Dorothy dropped breathlessly into the nearest chair.
IV
The tiny room was exquisite in its orderly neatness. The furniture was of the plainest, but bore an air of individuality. On one side was a case of books, and the mantel above the fireplace was decorated with quaint curios and beautiful shells.
A shadow fell across the floor.
“A nearer view might the better satisfy your curiosity, madam,” said a voice from behind Ethel.
Ethel turned sharply to find herself face to face with a man in the rough garb of a miner. The man’s eyes looked straight into hers without flinching.
“I said that a nearer view might the better satisfy your curiosity in regard to my poor possessions,” he repeated.
“Yours?” she stammered, a look of repulsion coming into her eyes.
The look and the shrinking gesture were not lost on Hustler Joe. His eyes darkened. His broad shoulders bent in a mocking bow and his right hand made a sweeping flourish.
“Mine, madam; but consider them yours until the storm is over. I’ll not intrude”—and he was gone.