Marianne, grown sick,
steadied herself against the side of the window; she had seen the
brightness of steel on the driving hoofs.
A hasty group formed. The stable boy was guiltily leading the horse
through the door and around the gaudy rider came the old man, and a
woman who had run from a neighboring porch, and a long-moustached giant.
But all that Marianne distinctly saw was the white, set face of the
rescuer as he soothed the child in his arms; in a moment it had stopped
crying and the woman received it. It was the old man who uttered the
thought of Marianne.
"That was cool, young feller, and darned quick, and a nervy thing as I
ever seen."
"Tut!" said the other, but the girl thought that his smile was a little
forced. He must have heard those metal-armed hoofs as they whirred past
his head.
"There is distinctly something worth while about these Westerners, after
all," thought Marianne.
Something else was happening now. The big man with the sandy, long
moustaches was lecturing him of the gay attire.
"Nervy enough," he began, "but you'd oughtn't to take a hoss around
where kids are, a hoss that ain't learned to stop kicking. It's a fool
thing to do, I say.
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