er face slapped. The
man, always with his eye upon the mare, returned to his place, and sat
on his heel as before. "Three lumps," he said, holding them one by one
to be snatched. "You're acting sort of convalescent, Jones. No more
sugar. And don't be a hawg!"

The mare was kissing his face.

"Back of all! Back water! Thar now, thank the lady behind me!"

And I had imagined my presence still unknown.

"How on earth," I gasped, "did you know I was here?"

The man's eyes were still intent upon the wounded mare. "Wall, Mrs.
Trevor," he drawled.

"You know my name? Your back has been turned the whole time! You've
never seen me in your life--at least I've never seen you!"

"That's so," he answered thoughtfully. "I don't need tellin' the sound
of that colt yo' husband bought from me. As to the squeak of a lady's
pigskin saddle, thar ain't no other lady rider short of a hundred and
eighty-three and a half miles."

What manner of man could this be? My colt was drawing toward him all the
time as though a magnet pulled.

"This Jones," the man went on, "bin bit by a snake, is afraid she'll be
wafted on high, so my eyes is sort of engaged in holding her down while
she swells. She kicked me hearty, though, and loading sugar's no symptom
of passing away, so on the whole I hope she'll worry along while I cook
dinner."

He stood facing me, the bag still in his hand, and my colt asking
pointedly for sugar. Very tall, gaunt, deeply tanned, perhaps
twenty-five years of age, he seemed to me immeasurably old, so deeply
lined was his face. And yet it was the face of one at peace. Purity of
life, quaint humor, instant sympathy, may perhaps have given him that
wonderful charm of manner which visibly attracted animals, which
certainly compelled me as I accepted his invitation to dinner. I had
been away since daybreak, and now the sun was entering the west. As to
my purpose, that I felt could wait.

So I sat under the pines, pretending to nurse Jones while the shadows
lengthened over the tawny grass, and orange needles flecked fields of
rock, out to the edge of the headland.

The man unsaddled my horse, unloaded his ponies, fetched water from the
spring of natural Apollinaris, but when, coming back, he found me
lighting a fire, he begged me to desist, to rest while he made dinner.
And I was glad to rest, thinking about the peace beyond the edge of the
headland. Yet it was interesting to see how a man keeps house in the
wilderness,