d unassuming rig--neither soiled nor fresh--made him
seem so; at all events what he might look like was apparently of slight
moment to him. He had a good walk--Kate noticed that when he crossed the
platform; not the choppy, high-heeled gait of a man that never does
anything but ride, but an easy step that matched the expressions of his
eyes. His quick movements seemed, as usual with bronzed Western men,
younger than his face; and his twenty-eight years would, as a first
impression, have passed for well above thirty, with Kate. She had
struggled too long with charcoal and lead pencils not to perceive that
his frame was clean and his shoulders good; and his head was well set on
them, if the man would carry it where it belonged. But he was plainly
not vain; and since we usually accept at sight whatever draft men and
women themselves draw on our impressions, Kate would have regarded him
ordinarily with no more than he demanded--indifference.

"Any kind of saddle will do me," he answered in response to an inquiry;
and he repeated his compliment to the horses. He looked well at his own:
"This is a good pony." Kate assumed a little: "All our ponies are good."

"I wish you'd show them to me sometime," was his unassuming request. The
remark should have been enough to warn Kate that her deception rested on
very thin ice; that it was more than probable he had already penetrated
much of it. But, a beginner in deception, she was intent only on her own
part and took his good-natured acquiescence at its face value. The
moment he saw her ponies he knew they were Doubleday's: yet he seemed
willing to forego his scruple rather than to lose the ride.

Kate, too, was disposed to be amiable: "I will show them to you
sometime," she said promptly.

But whenever she thawed for an instant she felt directly the necessity of
freezing up again. Her remarks were divided as evenly as a mountain
April day--one moment spring, the next winter. Happily for her purposes,
the day itself was spring. She had mounted her horse but as she spoke,
she slipped from her saddle, threw her lines and, walking hurriedly into
the dining room, returned with a handful of wrapped sandwiches. She
looked at him as she held the package out: "How can we carry them?"

He disposed of the store in a capacious pocket and then hesitated: "I
wonder if you'd mind waiting five minutes while I go up to Doubleday's
house."

"What for?" she asked, professing surprise.