By chance, as he shifted back, afraid of her hand, it touched the coarse fabric of his shirt sleeve.

Had it fallen further she might have felt his arm, bare; might have discovered the sleeve itself to be ragged and fringed with long-continued use.

But she did not know.
"Oh, you're just in your working clothes, aren't you ?" she said.

"So this is the West I used to read about," she said musing.

"Everything Western--even the way you talk.