“Jus’ because a girl’s got a red mouth an’ purty eyes ...” began old man Adams knowingly.  But Smith snorted “Poh!” at him again and clapped him good naturedly on the thin old shoulders after such a fashion as to double the old man up and send him coughing and catching at his breath back to his chair by the fire.

Poke Drury, staring strangely at Smith, showed unmistakable signs of his embarrassment.  Slowly under several pairs of interested eyes his face went a flaming red.

“I don’t know what’s got into me tonight,” he muttered, slapping a very high and shining forehead with a very soft, flabby hand.  “I clean forgot you boys hadn’t had supper.  An’ now ... the grub’s all in the kitchen an’ ... she’s in there, all curled up in a quilt an’ mos’ likely asleep.”

Several mouths dropped.  As for Hap Smith he again smote his big hands together and laughed.

“Drinks on Poke Drury,” he announced cheerfully.  “For havin’ got so excited over a pretty girl he forgot we hadn’t had supper!  Bein’ that’s what’s got into him.”

Drury hastily set forth bottles and glasses.  More than that, being tactful, he started Hap Smith talking.  He asked of the roads, called attention to the fact that the stage was several hours late, hinted at danger from the same gentleman who had taken off Bill Varney only recently, and so succeeded in attaining the desired result.  Hap Smith, a glass twisting slowly in his hand, declaimed long and loudly.

But in the midst of his dissertation the kitchen door opened and the girl, her quilt about her shoulders like a shawl, came in.

“I heard,” she said quietly.  “You are all hungry and the food is in there.”  She came on to the fireplace and sat down.  “I am hungry, too.  And cold.”  She looked upon the broad genial face of Hap Smith as upon the visage of an old friend.  “I am not going to be stupid,” she announced with a little air of taking the situation in hand.  “I would be, if I stayed in there and caught cold.  Tell them,” and it was still Hap Smith whom she addressed, “to go on with whatever they are doing.”

Again she came in for a close general scrutiny, one of serious, frank and matter of fact appraisal.  Conscious of it, as she could not help being, she for a little lifted her head and turned her eyes gravely to meet the eyes directed upon her.  Hers were clear, untroubled, a deep grey and eminently pleasant to look into; especially now that she put into them a little friendly smile.  But in another moment and with a half sigh of weariness, she settled into a chair at the fireside and let her gaze wander back to the blazing fire.

Again among themselves they conceded, what by glances and covert nods, that she was most decidedly worth a man’s second look and another after that.  “Pretty, like a picture,” offered Joe Hamby in a guarded whisper to one of the recent arrivals, who was standing with him at the bar.  “Or,” amended Joe with a flash of inspiration, “like a flower; one of them nice blue flowers on a long stem down by the crick.”