"You want to see Mr. Yarnall?"
"Yes, sir." The man's eyes were searching the ranch-house wistfully
again. "I would like to see him if I can. I have some questions to ask
him."
"He's round the house, gettin' rid of a bunch of dudes. Some job. Both
hands tied up. Will you go round or wait?"
The stranger dropped to his heels, squatted, and rolled a cigarette.
"I'll wait," he murmured. "You can let him know when the dudes make
their get-away. He'll get round to me. My name? It won't mean anything
to him--Pierre Landis."
He did not go round the house, and Yarnall, being very busy and
perturbed for some time after the departure of his guests, did not get
round to him till nearly noon. By that time he was sitting on the
step, his back against the wall, still smoking and still wistfully
observant of his surroundings.
He stood up when Yarnall came.
"Sorry," said the latter; "that fool boy didn't tell me you were here
till ten minutes ago. Come in. You'll stop for dinner--if we get any
to-day."
"Thank you," said Pierre.
He came in and talked and stayed for dinner. Yarnall was used to the
Western fashion of doing business. He knew that it would be a long
time before the young man would come to his point. But the Englishman
was in no hurry, for he liked his visitor and found his talk diverting
enough. Landis had been in Alaska--a lumber camp. He had risen to be
foreman and now he was off for a vacation, but had to go back soon. He
had been everywhere. It seemed to Yarnall that the stranger had
visited every ranch in the Rocky Mountain belt.
After dinner, strolling beside his host toward his horse, Pierre
spoke, and before Yarnall had heard a word he knew that the long delay
had been caused by suppressed emotion. Pierre, when he did ask his
question, was white to the lips.
"I've taken a lot of your time," he said slowly. "I came to ask you
about someone. I heard that you had a woman on your ranch, a woman who
came in and didn't give you any history. I want to see her if I may."
He was actually fighting an unevenness of breath, and Yarnall,
unemotional as he was, was gripped with sympathetic suspense. "I
want," stammered the young man, "to know her name."
Yarnall swore. "Her name, as she gave it," said he, "is Jane. But, my
boy, you can't see her. She left this morning."