“So you know my name. May I ask how?” was her astonished question.
He gave the low laugh that always seemed to suggest a private source of amusement of his own. “I suspicioned that might be your name when I say y’u come a-sailin’ down from heaven to gather me up like Enoch.”
“Why?”
“Well, ma’am, I happened to drift in to Gimlet Butte two or three days ago, and while I was up at the depot looking for some freight a train sashaid in and side tracked a flat car. There was an automobile on that car addressed to Miss Helen Messiter. Now, automobiles are awful seldom in this country. I don’t seem to remember having seen one before.”
“I see. You’re quite a Sherlock Holmes. Do you know anything more about me?”
“I know y’u have just fallen heir to the Lazy D. They say y’u are a schoolmarm, but I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I am.” Then, “Why don’t you believe it?” she added.
He surveyed her with his smile audacious, let his amused eyes wander down from the mobile face with the wild-rose bloom to the slim young figure so long and supple, then serenely met her frown.
“Y’u don’t look it.”
“No? Are you the owner of a composite photograph of the teachers of the country?”