carved leather cuffs, made up a picturesque ensemble, and a strange flutter of excitement crept over Nan as their eyes met.
He turned in his saddle after they had passed and continued to look at her in a stare which, though steady and long, had nothing of impertinence in it, while Nan with rising color suddenly realized that she had returned it as frankly.
The girl in the faded skirt and gaudy hat looked neither at Nan nor at the bystanders who lined the street. She seemed to have eyes only for the man who rode beside her.
"Who is that?"
"Edith Blakely from over to the Longhorn bosque. A looker, ain't she?"
"She rides well,—and the man?"
"Why, that's Ben Evans; foreman of the L. X. outfit."
"Ben Evans." Once more she felt that curious thrill of excitement and wondered at it, while simultaneously from some obscure niche in her brain there came the recollection of her brother's gibe—
"I suppose you'll find your affinity out West—in 'chaps'."
