McNeil was not much of a talker, having an impediment in his
speech, and being a trifle bashful in the presence of a lady. But he
caught the eye,--a slenderly built, reckless fellow, smoothly shaven,
with a strong chin and bright laughing eyes,--and as he lolled
carelessly back in his bearskin "chaps" and wide-brimmed sombrero,
occasionally throwing in some cool, insinuating comment regarding
Moffat's recitals, the latter experienced a strong inclination to heave
him overboard. The slight hardening of McNeil's eyes at such moments
had thus far served, however, as sufficient restraint, while the
unobservant Miss Spencer, unaware of the silent duel thus being
conducted in her very presence, divided her undisguised admiration,
playing havoc with the susceptible heart of each, and all unconsciously
laying the foundations for future trouble.
"Why, how truly remarkable!" she exclaimed, her cheeks glowing. "It's
all so different from the East; heroism seems to be in the very air of
this country, and your adventure was so very unusual. Don't you think
so, Mr. McNeil?"
The silent foreman hitched himself suddenly upright, his face unusually
solemn.
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