as if he wanted to verify by close scrutiny a first hasty impression.
If there had been an instinct in his meeting with Colter, there was
more in this. The girl half sat, half leaned against a log, with the
shiny little carbine across her knees. She had a level, curious gaze
upon him, and Jean had never met one just like it. Her eyes were
rather a wide oval in shape, clear and steady, with shadows of thought
in their amber-brown depths. They seemed to look through Jean, and
his gaze dropped first. Then it was he saw her ragged homespun skirt
and a few inches of brown, bare ankles, strong and round, and crude
worn-out moccasins that failed to hide the shapeliness, of her feet.
Suddenly she drew back her stockingless ankles and ill-shod little feet.
When Jean lifted his gaze again he found her face half averted and a
stain of red in the gold tan of her cheek. That touch of embarrassment
somehow removed her from this strong, raw, wild woodland setting. It
changed her poise. It detracted from the curious, unabashed, almost
bold, look that he had encountered in her eyes.

"Reckon you're from Texas," said Jean, presently.

"Shore am," she drawled. She had a lazy Southern voice, pleasant
to hear. "How'd y'u-all guess that?"

"Anybody can tell a Texan. Where I came from there were a good many
pioneers an' ranchers from the old Lone Star state. I've worked for
several. An', come to think of it, I'd rather hear a Texas girl talk
than anybody."

"Did y'u know many Texas girls?" she inquired, turning again to face him.

"Reckon I did--quite a good many."