ed-nosed proprietor was loading cots into a wagon, his large wife,
in a striped kimono with red ruffles at the sleeves and a large V of
bare bosom showing, standing in the door of the office-tent directing
his labors in a voice which suggested a mustache and knee-boots. A
dangling strand of her greasy black hair swung in the wind across her
cheek, at times lodging in the curve of it and obscuring her eye. As the
lady's hands were both employed, one in holding up the train of her
florescent garb, the other in supporting her weight against the
tent-pole, she had no free fingers to tuck the blowing wisp in place.
So, when it lodged she blew it out of the way, slewing her mouth around
to do so, and shutting one eye as if taking aim.

All these employments left her no time for the man who had approached
within a few feet of her and stood with an inquiring poise as if asking
permission to speak. She went on with her directing, and skirt-holding,
and leaning against the tent-pole, and blowing, without giving him a
full look, although she had taken his appraisement with the corner of
her eye.

The man was not of an appearance to inspire the hope of gain in the
bosom of the hostess. His band-less slouch-hat flapped down over his
forehead and face, partly hiding a bandage, the sanguine dye of which
told what it concealed. A black beard of some days' growth, the dust of
the range caught in it, covered his chin and jowls; and a greasy khaki
coat, such as sheep-herders wear, threatened to split upon his wide
shoulders every time he moved his arms.

His trousers were torn, and streaked with the stain of rain and clay. He
had pinned the rents about his knees together, but he seemed so
insecurely covered that a strong wind might expose him, or a sudden
start burst his seams and scant contrivances to shield his nakedness. He
touched his hat in a moment when he caught the quick eye of the
landlord's wife upon him again, and moved a little nearer.

"Can you tell me, madam," said he respectfully, "what has become of the
party that was camped in the tent around on the other side--four ladies
and several men?"

"We don't lodge either sheep-herders or sheep-shearers unless they take
a bath first," said she, turning from him disdainfully.

"But I am neither a herder nor a shearer," he protested, "although I
may----"

"May be worse," she finished, though perhaps not in the way he
intended.

"Suit yourself about it," he yielded. "I don