The visitor found the interior of the Baker home looking like a corner in a storage warehouse. Florence, in a big checked apron reaching to her chin, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was busily engaged in still further dismantling the once cosey parlor. Amidst the confusion, and apparently a part of it, Mrs. Baker wandered aimlessly about. The front door was wide open, letting in a stream of sunlight.
"Good-morning," said Ben, appearing in the doorway.
Mrs. Baker stopped long enough to nod, and Florence looked up from her work.
"Good-morning," she replied. A deliberate glance took in the new-comer's dress from head to foot, and lingered on the exposed revolver hilt. "Are you hunting Indians or bear?"
Ben Blair returned the look, even more deliberately.
"Bear, I judge from the question. I came in search of you."
There was no answer, and the man came in and sat down on the corner of a box. "You seem to be very busy," he said.
The girl went on with her packing. "Yes, rather busy," she said indifferently.
Ben dangled one long leg over the side of the box.
"Are you too busy to take a ride with me? I want to talk with you."