Laferm I 'low?"

Therese acknowledged her identity with a bow.

"My name's Jimson; Rufe Jimson," he went on, settling himself on the
pony and folding his long knotty hands over the hickory switch that he
carried in guise of whip.

"Do you wish to speak to me? won't you dismount?" Therese asked.

"I hed my dinner down to the store," he said taking her proposal as an
invitation to dine, and turning to expectorate a mouth full of tobacco
juice before continuing. "Capital sardines them air," passing his hand
over his mouth and beard in unctuous remembrance of the oily dainties.

"I'm just from Cornstalk, Texas, on mu way to Grant. An' them roads as
I've traversed isn't what I'd call the best in a fair and square
talk."

His manner bore not the slightest mark of deference. He spoke to
Therese as he might have spoken to one of her black servants, or as he
would have addressed a princess of royal blood if fate had ever
brought him into such unlikely contact, so clearly was the sense of
human equality native to him.

Therese knew her animal, and waited patiently for his business to
unfold itself.

"I reckon thar hain't no ford hereabouts?" he asked, looking at her
with a certain challenge.

"Oh, no; its even difficult crossing in the flat," she answered.

"Wall, I hed calc'lated continooing on this near side. Reckon I could
make it?" challenging her again to an answer.

"There's no road on this side," she said, turning away to fasten more
securely the escaped branches of a rose-bush that twined about a
column near which she stood.

Whether there were a road on this side or on the other side, or no
road at all, appeared to be matter of equal indifference to Mr.
Jimson, so far as his manner showed. He continued imperturbably "I
'lowed to stop here on a little matter o' business. 'Tis some out o'
mu way; more'n I'd calc'lated. You couldn't tell the ixact distance
from here to Colfax, could you?"

Therese rather impatiently gave him the desired information, and
begged that he would disclose his business with her.

"Wall," he said, "onpleasant news 'll keep most times tell you're
ready fur it. Thet's my way o' lookin' at it."

"Unpleasant news for me?" she inquired, startled from her indifference
and listlessness.

"Rather onpleasant ez I take it. I hain't a makin' no misstatement to
persume thet Gregor Sanchun was your nephew?"

"Yes, yes," responded Therese, now thoroughly alarmed, and approaching
as close