"And you haven't, by
any chance, noticed a big, gray-mustached man in a blue shirt and
six-shooters, with little flakes of merino wool sticking in his hair,
have you?"
"Lots of 'em," said Teddy, with symptoms of mental delirium under the
strain. Do you happen to know any such individual?"
"No; the description is imaginary. Is your interest in the old lady
whom you describe a personal one?"
"Never saw her in my life. She's painted entirely from fancy. She owns
the little piece of property where I earn my bread and butter--the
Rancho de las Sombras. I drove up to meet her according to arrangement
with her lawyer."
Octavia leaned against the wall of the telegraph office. Was this
possible? And didn't he know?
"Are you the manager of that ranch?" she asked weakly.
"I am," said Teddy, with pride.
"I am Mrs. Beaupree," said Octavia faintly; "but my hair never would
curl, and I was polite to the conductor."
For a moment that strange, grown-up look came back, and removed Teddy
miles away from her.
"I hope you'll excuse me," he said, rather awkwardly. "You see, I've
been down here in the chaparral a year. I hadn't heard. Give me your
checks, please, and I'll have your traps loaded into the wagon. Jose
will follow with them.
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