"Just the same, I know a fine-looking woman
when I clap my bright eyes on her. And I'd like to camp on her trail
as long as the sun shines! Say"--his voice half losing its eternal
drawl--"who do you suppose she is? Her old man might own about a
million acres of this God-forsaken country. If she goes on through to
'Frisco--"
"You wouldn't be strong for stopping off out here?" the fat man put in
genially. Hapgood shuddered.
And to Greek Conniston there came a sudden inspiration.
"Anyway," Roger Hapgood went on in his customary drawl, "I'm going to
find out. It's little Roger to learn something about the prairie
flower. I'll soon tell you who she is," he added, rising from his
seat.
But he never did. For one thing, young Conniston was not there when
Roger returned five minutes later, and it is extremely doubtful if
Roger Hapgood would have told how his venture had fared. Being duly
impressed with the fascination of his own debonair little person, and
having the imagination of a cow, he had smirked his way to the girl,
who now sat in the observation-car, and had begun on the weather.
"Dreadfully warm in this desert country, isn't it?" he said, with
over-politeness and the smile which he knew to be irresistible.
The girl turned from gazing out the window, and her eyes met his, very
clear and very much amused.
"Very warm," she smiled back at him.
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