"Oh. Did you skin your face and blacken your eye, Mr. Campbell, when
you tried to jump that washout?"
"No." Ford did not offer any explanation. He remembered the scars of
battle which were still plainly visible upon his countenance, and he
turned red while he bent over the fore ankles of Rambler, trying to
discover other sprains. He felt that he was going to dislike this girl
very much before he succeeded in getting her to shelter. He could not
remember ever meeting before a woman under forty with so unpleasant a
manner and with such a talent for disagreeable utterances.
"Then you must have been fighting a wildcat," she hazarded.
"Pardon me; is this a Methodist experience meeting?" he retorted,
looking full at her with lowering brows. "It seems to me the only
subject which concerns us mutually is the problem of getting to a ranch
before dark."
"You'll have to solve it yourself. I never attempt puzzles." The girl,
somewhat to his surprise, showed no resentment at his rebuff. Indeed, he
began to suspect her of being secretly amused. He began also mentally
to accuse her of not being too badly hurt to walk, if she wanted to;
indeed, his skepticism went so far as to accuse her of deliberately
baiting him--though why, he did not try to conjecture.
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