“I knew I’d get the jolt all right,” soliloquized Carley, wearily, as she walked to a rude couch of poles and sat down upon it. She had begun to cool off. And there, feeling dirty and tired, and slowly wearing to the old depression, she composed herself to wait.
Suddenly she heard the clip-clop of hoofs. “There! that’s Glenn,” she cried, gladly, and rising, she ran to the door.
She saw a big bay horse bearing a burly rider. He discovered her at the same instant, and pulled his horse.
“Ho! Ho! if it ain’t Pretty Eyes!” he called out, in gay, coarse voice.
Carley recognized the voice, and then the epithet, before her sight established the man as Haze Ruff. A singular stultifying shock passed over her.
“Wal, by all thet’s lucky!” he said, dismounting. “I knowed we’d meet some day. I can’t say I just laid fer you, but I kept my eyes open.”
Manifestly he knew she was alone, for he did not glance into the cabin.
“I’m waiting for—Glenn,” she said, with lips she tried to make stiff.
“Shore I reckoned thet,” he replied, genially. “But he won’t be along yet awhile.”
He spoke with a cheerful inflection of tone, as if the fact designated was one that would please her; and his swarthy, seamy face expanded into a good-humored, meaning smile. Then without any particular rudeness he pushed her back from the door, into the cabin, and stepped across the threshold.