Considering his pleasant approach, I could not but be civil.

He was a singularly handsome fellow, at a quick glance, under forty
years, with curly, blond hair, almost gold, a skin very fair for that
country, and the keenest, clearest, boldest blue eyes I had ever seen in
a man.

"You're Russ, I reckon," he said. "Some of my men have seen you ridin'
round with Sampson's girls. I'm Jack Blome."

He did not speak that name with any flaunt or flourish. He merely stated
it.

Blome, the rustler! I grew tight all over.

Still, manifestly there was nothing for me to do but return his
pleasantry. I really felt less uneasiness after he had made himself
known to me. And without any awkwardness, I introduced him to the girls.

He took off his sombrero and made gallant bows to both.

Miss Sampson had heard of him and his record, and she could not help a
paleness, a shrinking, which, however, he did not appear to notice.
Sally had been dying to meet a real rustler, and here he was, a very
prince of rascals.

But I gathered that she would require a little time before she could be
natural. Blome seemed to have more of an eye for Sally than for Diane.
"Do you like Pecos?" he asked Sally.