He was perilously close to forgetting his legal
halter when he looked at her.
She was, he thought, about as sweet a picture of a woman as a man need
ever look upon, as she stood there with the red Navajo blanket falling
back from her dark hair, and with her wide, honest eyes fixed upon Rock.
She was blushing, as if she, too, wished Rock elsewhere. She turned
impulsively, set down the basin she had been holding in her arm, and
pulled the blanket up so that it framed her face bewitchingly.
"Mose can bring up the mince-meat when he comes--since he isn't here,"
she said hurriedly. "We weren't looking for you back, but dinner will be
ready in half an hour or so, I think." She pulled open the door and went
out into the storm.
Rock stared at the door, still quivering with the slam she had given it.
Then he looked at Ford, and afterward sat down weakly upon a stool, and
began dazedly pulling the icicles from his mustache.
"Well--I'll--be--cremated!" he said in a whisper.
"And what's eating you, Rock?" Ford quizzed gayly. He had seen
something in the eyes of Josephine, when he met her, that had set his
blood jumping again.
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