As the cowboy caught the dangling cinch, and with a deft hand tucked the
latigo strap through the ring and drew it tight, there was a look of
almost pathetic wistfulness on the watching stranger's face--a look of
wistfulness and admiration and envy.
Dropping the stirrup, Joe again faced the stranger, this time
inquiringly, with that bold, straightforward look so characteristic of
his kind.
And now, when the man spoke, his voice had a curious note, as if the
speaker had lost a little of his poise. It was almost a note of apology,
and again in his eyes there was that pitiful look of self-depreciation
and shame.
"Pardon me," he said, "but will you tell me, please, am I right that
this is the road to the Williamson Valley?"
The stranger's manner and voice were in such contrast to his general
appearance that the cowboy frankly looked his wonder as he answered
courteously, "Yes, sir."
"And it will take me direct to the Cross-Triangle Ranch?"
"If you keep straight ahead across the valley, it will. If you take the
right-hand fork on the ridge above the goat ranch, it will take you to
Simmons. There's a road from Simmons to the Cross-Triangle on the far
side of the valley, though.
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