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?"
"Those Mexicans at the little-goat ranch."
"Balli. So you walked in from Arroyo Grande. Lord! It's a good ten
miles straightaway, and I reckon you came crooked. Eh?"
"Yes. And it was very hot. I was never here but once, and--the
country looks different when you're afoot."
"It certainly does," the man nodded. Then he continued, musingly:
"No water there, eh? I figured there might be a little." The fact
appeared to please him, for he nodded again as he went on with his
meal. "Not much rain down here, I reckon.
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