She marched stiffly down the hill. Bennington turned to follow her,
although the action was entirely mechanical, and he had no definite
idea in doing so.

"Don't you dare, sir!" she cried.

So he did not dare.

This vexed her for a moment. Then, having gone quite out of sight, she
sank down and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks.

"I didn't think he knew enough!" she said, with a final hysterical
chuckle.

This first impression of the Mountain Flower, Bennington would have
been willing to acknowledge, was quite complicated enough, but he was
destined to further surprises.

When he returned to the Holy Smoke camp he found Old Mizzou in earnest
conversation with a peculiar-looking stranger, whose hand he was
promptly requested to shake.

The stranger was a tall, scraggly individual, dressed in the usual
flannel shirt and blue jeans, the latter tucked into rusty cowhide
boots. Bennington was interested in him because he was so phenomenally
ugly. From the collar of his shirt projected a lean, sinewy neck, on
which the too-abundant skin rolled and wrinkled in a dark red,
wind-roughened manner particularly disagreeable to behold. The neck
supported a small head. The face was wizened and tanned to a dark
mahogany colour. It was ornamented with a grizzled goatee.