“An’ you, too, Stronghurl… . Doan is goin’ to throw in with us.”

Both men greeted Tom with the cordial good will and curiosity natural to an event of importance to them. It was evident that Burn, from his resemblance to Hudnall, was a son. Stronghurl had as remarkable a physiognomy as his name, and somehow they fitted each other.

“Burn, you’ll take Doan with your wagon,” said Hudnall. “That fills our outfit, an’ we’ll be pullin’ to-morrow for the Panhandle… . Hey, you women folks,” he called toward the wagons, “come out an’ meet my new man.”

The stout woman left off washing at the tub and came forward, wiping her red hands on her apron. She had a serious face that lighted with a smile.

“Wife, this is Tom Doan,” went on Hudnall, and next in order he presented Tom to Burn’s wife, whom Tom recognized as the young woman he had seen in the wagon. Last to emerge was a girl of eighteen or thereabouts, sister of Burn and manifestly Hudnall’s pride. She was of large frame, pleasant faced, and she had roguish eyes that took instant stock of Tom.

Thus almost before he could realize his good fortune, Tom found himself settled with people of his own kind, whom he liked on sight. Moreover, Hudnall had the same pioneer urge which possessed Tom; and the fact that Pilchuck, an old buffalo-hunter, was to accompany them down into Texas, just about made the deal perfect. To be sure, Tom had not mentioned wages or shares, but he felt that he could safely trust Hudnall.

“Where’s your pack?” inquired Burn. “An’ what have you got in the way of outfit?”

“I left it at the station,” replied Tom. “Not much of an outfit. A bag of clothes and a valise.”

“Nary horse or gun. Have you any money?” went on Burn, with cheerful interest.

“I’ve got two hundred dollars.”

“Good. Soon as we get this horse shod I’ll go uptown with you.”

“Well, son,” spoke up Hudnall, “I reckon Tom had better let Pilchuck buy gun an’ horse an’ what else he needs.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Mrs. Hudnall. “If I know men you’ll all have a say about horses an’ guns.”

“Mr. Doan, wouldn’t you like me to help you pick out that horse?” inquired Burn’s sister, mischievously.

“Why, yes,” replied Tom, joining in the laugh. “I’d like you all to help—so long as I get one I can ride.”

The women returned to their tasks while Hudnall went off with Pilchuck toward the town. Left to his own devices, Tom presently joined Burn and Stronghurl, who were not having any easy job shoeing the horse. It was a spirited animal.

“Doan, would you mind fetchin’ that bay horse back?” asked Burn, presently pointing toward the other side of the grove, where several canvas-covered wagons gleamed among the trees.

Tom picked up a halter and strode away under the trees, at once pleasantly preoccupied with thought of the most satisfying nature. He came up with the bay horse, which he found eating out of a girl’s hand. Tom saw and heard other people close by, but he did not notice them particularly. Intent on the horse, he did not take a second glance at the girl, until she spoke.

“I’ve caught your horse twice to-day,” she said.

“Much obliged. But he’s not mine,” replied Tom, and as he put the halter over the neck of the animal he looked at the girl.

Her eyes met his. They were large, black as midnight, and they gazed up from a face almost as dark as an Indian’s. Her hair was brown and appeared to have a sheen or light upon it.

Tom’s glance became what hers was—steady, almost a stare without consciousness, a look of depth and gravity for which neither was responsible.

Then Tom withdrew his glance and attended to knotting the halter. Yet he could see her still. She was of medium height, neither robust nor heavy, yet giving an impression of unusual strength and suppleness for a girl.