She remembered that his name was Ferguson--Jeb Ferguson, and that he was working on shares what was known as "the creek-bottom farm," which began about a mile and a half away, straight down the pasture hollow.

He glanced up at the window, raised his black slouch hat, and nodded with the self-conscious, self-assured grin of the desired of women.

She tried to return this salute with a pleasant smile.

He entered the gate and she heard his boots upon the front steps.
Now away across the hollow another figure appeared--a man on horseback coming through the wheat fields.

He was riding toward the farther gate of the pasture at a leisurely dignified pace.
She had only made out that he had abundant whiskers when the sound of a step upon the stairs caused her to turn.