Beside this table, her back to him, a woman sat with her face buried in her hands. A few feet beyond a little girl in green calico, no more than three or four years of age, sat looking at Rock, out of blue baby eyes, her little, round, red mouth opened in a friendly smile. “’Lo ‘Doc,’” she piped. The woman lifted her head, looked, sprang to her feet, and shrank back. For one instant, unbelieving terror stood in her wide gray eyes, in the part of her lips, as plain as Rock had ever seen it on any human face. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he said quickly. “I’m merely a passing stranger.” “Ah!” Her pent breath came with an explosive release. She put her hands to her breast for a second. Her features relaxed into a somber intentness. Wordless, she stared at Rock, her eyes sweeping him from head to foot, coming back to rest searchingly, with a look of incredulity, on his face. And Rock stared back, wondering, yet alive to the strange compelling quality that seemed to radiate from this woman like an aura, to command interest and admiration and profound respect. She hadn’t been afraid of him. No; timidity was no attribute of that dark, imperious face. She had been shocked, startled, by something about him. Rock wondered what it could be. * * * * * Two spots of color crept slowly into her cheeks. A very striking-looking creature, Rock thought. Not beautiful; not even pretty. Proud, passionate, dominant--yes. Slender as a willow, with a cloud of dark hair. Deep-gray eyes, like pools; scarlet lips. “’Lo, Doc,” the little girl repeated, in a childish treble. She clambered to her feet and toddled forward a step or two, waving a rag doll by one arm. “W’y don’t oo tum in?” “Hello, baby!” Rock answered and doffed his hat. “You don’t seem to find me a fearsome object, anyway.” “Nor do I.” The woman suddenly had found her voice--a deep, throaty sound, like water rippling gently over pebbles. “But I thought I was seeing a ghost.” “A ghost?” Rock grinned. His interest quickened at the tone, the clean-clipped words. No semiliterate range beauty this. Education had done one thing for Rock Holloway. It had made his ear sensitive to enunciation. “I’m a pretty substantial spook, I wish to remark. Rock Holloway is my name. I hail from Texas, via the Canadian Northwest and way points. I’m poor, but honest, and my intentions are reasonably honorable, even if my performances aren’t always up to par. No, lady, I’m no ghost. I’m a stock hand in search of occupation. I stopped in here because this was the first ranch I’ve seen to-day, and it’s near sundown. But, if I make you uncomfortable, I’ll ride on.” “No, no!” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean that. Come in. I’ll show you what I mean. I think you’ll understand. It may startle you, too.” Rock stepped into the room. The baby generously offered her doll in token of amity.