To Hale’s surprise, a burst of laughter from the party followed this speech.  He tried to join in, but this ridiculous summary of the result of his enthusiastic sense of duty left him—­the only earnest believer mortified and embarrassed.  Nor was he the less concerned as he found the girl’s dark eyes had rested once or twice upon him curiously.  Zenobia laughed too, and, lazily turning the chair around, dropped into it.  “And by this time George Lee’s loungin’ back in his chyar and smokin’ his cigyar somewhar in Sacramento,” she added, stretching her feet out to the fire, and suiting the action to the word with an imaginary cigar between the long fingers of a thin and not over-clean hand.

“We cave, Zeenie!” said Rawlins, when their hilarity had subsided to a more subdued and scarcely less flattering admiration of the unconcerned goddess before them.  “That’s about the size of it.  You kin rake down the pile.  I forgot you’re an old friend of George’s.”

“He’s a white man!” said the girl decidedly.

“Ye used to know him?” continued Rawlins.

“Once.  Paw ain’t in that line now,” she said simply.

There was such a sublime unconsciousness of any moral degradation involved in this allusion that even Hale accepted it without a shock.  She rose presently, and, going to the little sideboard, brought out a number of glasses; these she handed to each of the party, and then, producing a demijohn of whiskey, slung it dexterously and gracefully over her arm, so that it rested on her elbow like a cradle, and, going to each one in succession, filled their glasses.  It obliged each one to rise to accept the libation, and as Hale did so in his turn he met the dark eyes of the girl full on his own.  There was a pleased curiosity in her glance that made this married man of thirty-five color as awkwardly as a boy.

The tender of refreshment being understood as a tacit recognition of their claims to a larger hospitality, all further restraint was removed.  Zenobia resumed her seat, and placing her elbow on the arm of her chair, and her small round chin in her hand, looked thoughtfully in the fire.  “When I say George Lee’s a white man, it ain’t because I know him.  It’s his general gait.  Wot’s he ever done that’s underhanded or mean?  Nothin’!  You kant show the poor man he’s ever took a picayune from.  When he’s helped himself to a pile it’s been outer them banks or them express companies, that think it mighty fine to bust up themselves, and swindle the poor folks o’ their last cent, and nobody talks o’ huntin’ them!  And does he keep their money?  No; he passes it round among the boys that help him, and they put it in circulation.  He don’t keep it for himself; he ain’t got fine houses in Frisco; he don’t keep fast horses for show.  Like ez not the critter he did that job with—­ef it was him—­none of you boys would have rid!  And he takes all the risks himself; you ken bet your life that every man with him was safe and away afore he turned his back on you-uns.”