Tom Osby again looked her straight in the face.  “Just because we was naturally so blamed lonesome,” said he.  “That is to say, I was.  I allowed I wanted to hear a woman sing.  It wasn’t him, it was me.  He come along to take care of me, like, because he’s used to that sort of thing, and I ain’t.  He’s my chaperoon.  He didn’t know, you know—­didn’t either of us know—­but what I might be took advantage of, and stole by some gipsy queen.”

“But—­but the phonograph—­”

Tom looked around.  “Where is it?” he asked.

“Mr. Anderson kicked it down the hill.”

“Did he?  Good for him!  I was goin’ to do it my own self.  You see, ma’am, I come down here to hear a song about Annie Laurie.  I done so.  Ma’am, I heard about a ‘face that was the fairest.’  Him?  Was he surprised to see you-all this morning?  Was, eh?  Well, he didn’t seem so almighty surprised, to my way of thinkin’, last night when I told him you was comin’ up here from El Paso.  I don’t know how he knowed it, and I ain’t sayin’ a word.”

A strange lightening came to Constance Ellsworth’s heart.  The droop at the corners of her mouth faded away.  She slid down off the blanket roll and edged along across the ground until she sat at his side.  She reached out her hand for the skillet.

“That spider isn’t clean in the least,” said she.

“Oh, well,” apologized Tom Osby, leaning back against the wagon wheel and beginning to fill a pipe.  “I suppose there might be just a leetle sand left in it, but that don’t hurt.  Do you want a dish towel?  Here’s one that I’ve used for two years, freightin’ from Vegas to Heart’s Desire.  Me and it’s old friends.”

“Let your dishes dry in the sun if you can’t do better than that,” reproved Constance.  “Ah, you men!”

“You’re right hard to get along with, ma’am.  Us gettin’ you two breakfasts, too!”

They looked into each other’s faces and Constance laughed.  “The air is delightful—­isn’t it a beautiful world?” she exclaimed joyously.

“It shore is, ma’am,” rejoined Tom Osby, “if you think so.  It’s all in the way you look at things.”

“I came out here for my health, you know,” said she, carefully explanatory.

“Yes, I know.  You ain’t any healthier than a three-year-old deer on good pasture.  Ma’am, I’m sorry for you, but I wouldn’t really have picked you out for a lunger.  You know, I don’t believe Dan Andersen’s health is very good, either.  He’s needin’ a little Sky Top air, too,”

She froze at this.  “I don’t care to intrude into Mr. Andersen’s affairs,” she replied, “nor to have him intrude into my own.”

“Who done the intrudin’?” asked Tom Osby, calmly.  “Here’s me and him have flew down here as a bird to our mountings.  We was wantin’ to hear about a ‘face that was the fairest.’  We was a-settin’ here, calm and peaceful, eating frijoles, who intruded?  Was it us?  Or, what made us intrude?” He looked at her keenly, his eyes narrowed in the sunlight.