She stopped and looked up at him, puzzled, questioning so eloquently with her gaze that it was unnecessary for him to await the spoken query. "Yes, I did it myself," he said with a flushed laugh. Their self-consciousness was relieved by the change of thought. "It's mine; all mine. You ... You're the first person to come in here, ma'am, except Tim.... He was my daddy, an' he's dead. I don't ask folks in here 'cause it's so much trouble to explain to most of 'em. They'd think I'm stuck up, with lace curtains an' all...." He waved his hands to include the setting. "I can live with th' roughest of 'em an' enjoy it; I can put up with anything when it's necessary, but somehow I've always wanted something different, something that'll fill a place that plenty of grub an' a hot stove don't always satisfy. "Them curtains,"--with a chuckle--"came from th' Manzanita House. They were th' first decorations I put up. I woke up one mornin' after I'd been ... well, relieving my youth a little. I was in one of th' hotel rooms. 'Twas about this time of year an' th' wind was soft an' gentle, blowin' through th' windows like it does now, an' them curtains looked so cool an' clean an' homelike that I... Well, I just rustled three pair, ma'am!" He laughed again and crossed the room to free one curtain that had caught itself on a protruding hook. "Tim an' me had a great argument, when I brought 'em home. Tim, he says that if I was goin' to have curtains, I ought to go through with th' whole deal an' have gilt rods to hang 'em on. I says, no, that was goin' too far, gettin' to be too dudish, so I nailed 'em up!" He pointed to show her the six-penny nails that held them in place, and Ann laughed heartily. "Then, I played a little game that th' boys out here call Monte. It's played with cards, ma'am. I played with a Navajo I know--an' cards--an' he had just one kind of luck, awful bad. That's where these blankets come from,"--smiling in recollection. All this pleased him; he saw the humor of a man of his physique, his pursuit, furnishing a room with all the pains of a girl. "Those are good rugs. See? They're all black an' gray an' brown: natural colors. Red an' green are for tourists. "I bought that serape from a Mexican in Sonora when I was down there lookin' around. That lamp, though, that's th' best thing I got." He leaned low to blow the dust from its green shade with great pains, and Ann laughed outright at him. "I never could learn to dust proper, ma'am. It don't bother me so long's I don't see it," he confessed. "A man who came out here to stay with us for his health--a teacher--brought that lamp; when he went back, he left it for me. I think a lot of it." "You read by it?" she asked.