Perhaps, after all, the
mountaineer had a real cause of grievance. It seemed wholly unlikely, but
while she listened to the man's reply she weighed the matter judicially.
They were in an unfrequented part of the mountains, which cottagers and
hotel guests rarely explored. The mountaineer was saying:
"Mountain folks air slow, and we don't know much, but a stranger don't
ride through these hills more than once for the scenery; the second time
he's got to tell why; and the third time--well, Miss, you kin tell the
little fella' that there ain't no third time."
Chauvenet flushed and he ejaculated hotly:
"I have never been here before in my life."
The man dropped the rifle into his arm without taking his eyes from
Chauvenet. He said succinctly, but still with his drawl:
"You air a liar, seh!"
Chauvenet took a step forward, looked again into the rifle barrel, and
stopped short. Fanny, bored by the prolonged interview, bent her neck and
nibbled at a weed.
"This gentleman has been in America only a few weeks; you are certainly
mistaken, friend," said Shirley boldly. Then the color flashed into her
face, as an explanation of the mountaineer's interest in a stranger
riding the hills occurred to her.
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