“Better not let Steve Brodie catch you again,” advised one.
“He’ll sure climb your frame if he does,” said another.
“Steve’s a-ridin’ fer the Three C now, ain’t he?” asked another, seemingly anxious to change the subject.
“Uh-huh--Good man, Steve,” came from another.
With an oath, the Lizard slouched away to his horse and, mounting, rode off in the direction of his home.
In the store, Marta struggled desperately to regain at least a semblance of composure.
The two women, when they had made their purchases, were in no haste to go, and, under the pretext of taking advantage of their meeting for a friendly chat, furtively watched the Pardners’ girl.
Marta, pretending to examine some dress goods displayed on a table behind the stove, tried to hide herself. When the kindly clerk came to wait on her she started and blushed. Trembling and confused, she could not remember what it was that she had come to buy.
The clerk looked at her curiously. The women whispered again and tittered.
At last, in desperation, the girl stammered that she did not want anything--that she must go--that she would come in again before she started home. With downcast eyes and burning cheeks, she fled.
As she passed the men on the platform and walked swiftly to her horse she kept her eyes on the ground. She was so weak that she could scarcely raise herself to the saddle.
But the men were not watching her now. With their faces turned away they were, with one accord, interested in something that held their gaze in another direction.
Perplexed and troubled, Marta made her way slowly back toward the cañon. When Nugget, thinking quite likely of his supper, or perhaps observing the dark storm clouds that now hid the mountain tops, would have broken into a swifter pace, she pulled him down to a walk. Annoyed at the unusual restraint, the little horse fretted, tossed his head, and tugged at the bit. But she would not let him go. The girl wanted to think. She felt that she _must_ think.
What was the meaning of that incident at the store? Why did those men laugh in just that way when they first saw her? Why had they watched her like that when she dismounted? Why had they looked at her so as she passed them? Why did those women refuse to speak to her?--they knew her. And what had they whispered after turning their backs upon her? She had never before been conscious of anything like this. All her life she had met rough men. She had not been unaccustomed to rude jests. She had been, in the presence of men, like a young boy--unconscious of her sex. The only close association with men she had ever known was with Saint Jimmy and her fathers--until Edwards came. It could not be that these people were any different to-day than on other days when she had gone to the store. It must be that she herself was different.