Smoke was issuing from the crooked old chimney, and as they drew nearer a woman came to the open doorway and looked at them. She was dressed in faded calico and coarse shoes, but Skeeter thought he had never seen a more beautiful face.
After a searching glance at him the woman darted from the doorway and ran to Kirk, as if partly for protection and partly to find out if he was all right. Kirk put an arm around her shoulders and turned to Skeeter.
“Sarg, that is my wife.”
“Glad t’ meetcha,” muttered Skeeter as he placed the saddle on the ground and held out his hand.
The woman glanced at Kirk before she shook hands with Skeeter Bill.
“I killed his horse,” said Kirk slowly. “I thought he was one of the cowboys.”
“Tha’s all right,” grinned Skeeter. “Mistakes’ll happen in the best of families. I’ve been mistaken f’r the same thing before.”
“Then you’re not a cowboy?” queried Mrs. Kirk.
“I dunno.” Skeeter Bill shook his head. “I’ve been a lot of things, ma’am, and I dunno which one took the most. I’m just kinda pesticatin’ around, yuh see. I poked into this here country, and unless I’m misreadin’ the signs I’m goin’ t’ poke right out again.”
“You’ll have to get another horse,” reminded Kirk.