“You’re a missionary of the good-foods movement. I shall name your mission St. Sherry’s-in-the-Wilderness.”
“Ah, Sherry’s! That’s since my time. I don’t suppose I should know my way about in little old New York now.”
She found him eager to pick up again the broken strands that had connected him with the big world from which he had once come. It had been long since she had enjoyed a talk more, for he expressed himself with wit and dexterity. But through her enjoyment ran a note of apprehension. He was for the moment a resurrected gentleman. But what would he be next? She had an insistent memory of a heavenly flood of music broken by a horrible discord of raucous oaths.
It was he that lingered over their breakfast, loath to make the first move to bring him back into realities; and it was she that had to suggest the need of setting out. But once on his feet, he saddled and packed swiftly, with a deftness born of experience.
“We’ll have to ask Two-step to carry double to-day,” he said, as he helped her to a place behind him.
Two-step had evidently made an end of the bronco spree upon which he had been the evening before, for he submitted sedately to his unusual burden. The first hilltop they reached had its surprise to offer the girl. In a little valley below them, scarce a mile away, nestled a ranch with its corrals and buildings.
“Look!” she exclaimed; and then swiftly, “Didn’t you know it was there?”
“Yes, that’s the Hilke place,” he answered with composure. “It hasn’t been occupied for years.”
“Isn’t that some one crossing to the corral now?”
“No. A stray cow, I reckon.”