Her only hope would be in taking him
unaware. Yet she moved not one atom.
He wore a brown flannel shirt, open at the throat, brown leather belt and
boots; in short, his whole costume was in harmonious shades of brown, and
looked new as if it had been worn but a few days. His soft felt sombrero
was rolled back from his face, and the young red sun tinged the short
brown curls to a ruddy gold. He was looking toward the rising sun. The
gleam of it shot across his brace of pistols in his belt, and flashed twin
rays into her eyes. Then all at once the man turned and looked at her.
Instantly the girl sprang to her feet, her hands upon her pistol, her eyes
meeting with calm, desperate defiance the blue ones that were turned to
her. She was braced against a tree, and her senses were measuring the
distance between her horse and herself, and deciding whether escape were
possible.
"Good morning," said the man politely. "I hope I haven't disturbed your
nap."
The girl eyed him solemnly, and said nothing. This was a new kind of man.
He was not like the one from whom she had fled, nor like any she had ever
seen; but he might be a great deal worse. She had heard that the world was
full of wickedness.
"You see," went on the man with an apologetic smile, which lit up his eyes
in a wonderfully winning way, "you led me such a desperate race nearly all
day yesterday that I was obliged to keep you in sight when I finally
caught you.
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