"Howdy, Mis' Burr?" said the ancient. "Howdy, Dorothy?"
"'Lo, Scotty," chorused the two women. "Let me make yuh acquainted with Mr. Loudon, Scotty," continued Mrs. Burr. "Mr. Loudon, shake hands with Mr. Mackenzie."
Loudon gripped hands with the ragged ancient. In the latter's bright blue eyes was no friendliness.
He acknowledged the introduction with careful politeness, and sat down on a chair in a corner. Having deftly rolled a cigarette, he flipped the match through the doorway, tilted back his chair, remarked that the weather was powerful dry, and relapsed into silence. He took no further part in the conversation.
At the end of the kitchen, between the windows, hung a small mirror. Loudon, idly watching the two women as they moved about resetting the table, happened to glance at the mirror. In it he saw reflected the face of Scotty Mackenzie.
The features were twisted into an almost demoniac expression of hate. Slowly Loudon turned his head. Mackenzie, his eyes on the floor, was smoking, his expression one of serene well-being.
"He don't like me any," decided Loudon, and pondered the advisability of asking Mackenzie for a job.
It was not Mackenzie's lack of friendliness that gave Loudon pause. It was the man's appearance. Even for the West, where attire does not make the man, Mackenzie had not an inspiring presence. His trousers showed several patches and a rip or two. His vest was in a worse state than his trousers. His blue flannel shirt had turned green in spots, and the left sleeve had once belonged to a red flannel undershirt. Two holes yawned in the corner of his floppy-brimmed hat, and his boots, run over at the heels, would have shamed a tramp.
That this economically garbed individual could prove a good employer seemed doubtful. Yet he had been recommended by Jack Richie.
Mackenzie suddenly mumbled that he guessed he'd better be going, and rose to his feet. Loudon followed him into the street. Mackenzie halted and half-turned as Loudon caught up with him. Loudon noted that the ancient's hand was closer to his gun-butt than politeness and the circumstances warranted.