Now both man and horse had
stopped. The stranger had taken off his gray slouched hat and he
was wiping his face with something white. Something blue was tied
loosely about his throat. She had never seen a man like that
before. His face was smooth and looked different, as did his
throat and his hands. His breeches were tight and on his feet were
strange boots that were the colour of his saddle, which was deep
in seat, high both in front and behind and had strange long-hooded
stirrups. Starting to mount, the man stopped with one foot in the
stirrup and raised his eyes towards her so suddenly that she
shrank back again with a quicker throbbing at her heart and
pressed closer to the earth. Still, seen or not seen, flight was
easy for her, so she could not forbear to look again. Apparently,
he had seen nothing--only that the next turn of the trail was too
steep to ride, and so he started walking again, and his walk, as
he strode along the path, was new to her, as was the erect way
with which he held his head and his shoulders.
In her wonder over him, she almost forgot herself, forgot to
wonder where he was going and why he was coming into those lonely
hills until, as his horse turned a bend of the trail, she saw
hanging from the other side of the saddle something that looked
like a gun.
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