She
shook and brushed the wrinkles out of her clothes and went down
to the creek to wash her face with the inadequate facilities at
hand. After redressing her hair she returned to the fire, upon
which a coffee pot was already simmering.
She came up noiselessly behind him, but his trained senses were
apprised of her approach.
"Good mo'ning! How did y'u find your bedroom?" he asked, without
turning from the bacon he was broiling on the end of a stick.
"Quite up to the specifications. With all Wyoming for a floor and
the sky for a ceiling, I never had a room I liked better. But
have you eyes in the back of your head?"
He laughed grimly. "I have to be all eyes and ears in my
business."
"Is your business of a nature so sensitive?"
"As much so as stocks on Wall Street. And we haven't any ticker
to warn us to get under cover. Do you take cream in your coffee,
Miss Messiter?"
She looked round in surprise. "Cream?"
"We're in tin-can land, you know, and live on air-tights. I milk
my cow with a can-opener. Let me recommend this quail on toast."
He handed her a battered tin plate, and prepared to help her from
the frying-pan.
"I suppose that is another name for pork?"
"No, really.
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