"Who, me? Oh, I'll eat with the help." He smiled, and when his
flashing teeth showed white against his leathery tan the woman
decided he was not at all bad-looking. He was very tall and quite
lean, with the long legs of a horseman--this latter feature
accentuated by his high-heeled boots and by the short canvas
cowboy coat that reached only to his cartridge-belt. His features
she could not well make out, for the fire was little more than a
bed of coals, and he fed it, Indian-like, with a twig or two at a
time.

"I beg your pardon. I'm selfish." She extended her cup and plate
as an invitation for him to share their contents. "Please eat with
me."

But he refused. "I ain't hungry," he affirmed. "Honest!"

Accustomed as she was to the diffidence of ranch-hands, she
refrained from urging him, and proceeded with her repast. When she
had finished she lay back and watched him as he ate sparingly.

"My horse fell crossing the Arroyo Grande," she announced,
abruptly. "He broke a leg, and I had to shoot him."

"Is there any water in the Grande?" asked the man.

"No. They told me there was plenty. I knew of this charco, so I
made for it."

"Who told you there was water in the arroyo?"