He eyed her covertly while he untied the cases, and he could have sworn that he saw her signal someone behind the lace curtains of the nearest window.

He glanced carelessly that way, but the curtains were motionless.

Honey was holding out her hands for the guitar and the mandolin when he turned, so Bud surrendered them and went on to the corrals.
He did not return to the house.

An old man was pottering around a machine shed that stood backed against a thick fringe of brush, and when Bud rode by he left his work and came after him, taking short steps and walking with his back bent stiffly forward and his hands swinging limply at his sides.
He had a long black beard streaked with gray, and sharp blue eyes set deep under tufted white eyebrows.

He seemed a friendly old man whose interest in life remained keen as in his youth, despite the feebleness of his body.