"Couldn't I go on at once?" she said
impulsively.
"You would meet them sooner," he said thoughtfully.
This was quite enough for Mrs. Ashwood. "I think I'll rest this poor
horse, who is really tired," she, said with charming hypocrisy, "and
stop at the hotel."
She saw his face brighten. Perhaps he was the son of the hotel
proprietor, or a youthful partner himself. "I suppose you live here?"
she suggested gently. "You seem to know the place so well."
"No," he returned quickly; "I only run down here from San Francisco when
I can get a day off."
A day off! He was in some regular employment. But he continued: "And I
used to go to boarding-school near here, and know all these woods well."
He must be a native! How odd! She had not conceived that there might
be any other population here than the immigrants; perhaps that was what
made him so interesting and different from the others. "Then your father
and mother live here?" she said.
His frank face, incapable of disguise, changed suddenly. "No," he said
simply, but without any trace of awkwardness. Then after a slight
pause he laid his hand--she noticed it was white and well kept--on her
mustang's neck, and said, "If--if you care to trust yourself to me, I
could lead you and your horse down a trail into the valley that is at
least a third of the distance shorter. It would save you going back to
the regular road, and there are one or two lovely views that I could
show you.
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