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He assumed that he was an educated man though this impression may have been largely due to the fact that Harboro was keenly interested in a great variety of things, and had a good memory. The General Manager waited for certain wheels to turn, and then he sent for Harboro and offered him a position as chief clerk in one of the headquarter departments.
Through little horizontal wisps of smoke she saw Harboro lying across the bed, his great chest standing high, his muscular throat exposed to the light, a glint of teeth showing under the sweeping black mustache. His eyes, nearly closed, seemed to harbor an eager light as if he had travelled along a dark path and saw at last a beacon on a distant hilltop.
She hurried down into the dining-room. Ah, Harboro was there! And again she was puzzled by his placidity. He was standing at a window, with his back to her, his hands clasped behind him. He turned when he heard her. "It promises to be another warm day," he said pleasantly. Then he turned and looked out through the kitchen door as if hinting to Antonia that breakfast might now be served.
He overheard the conference between Harboro and the others, and he made himself one of the group with pleasant familiarity. "Ah, Harboro, must you be going, too?" he inquired genially; and then: "If you don't mind, I'll ride with you. It's rather a lonely road at this hour, and I've an idea I know the way better than you." Harboro's eyes certainly brightened with relief.
"That's one of your most er conspicuous citizens," he said with a smile. "His name is Mendoza Jesus Mendoza. I'm surprised you've never met him." "I never have," replied Harboro. He got up and took a new position so that he sat between Sylvia and Mendoza, cutting off the view of her. She had caught the name. She glanced interestedly at the man called Jesus Mendoza.
The remarkable manner in which he had conquered the town had made him an occasional subject for comment between Sylvia and Harboro, and he had described the man to her. Sylvia thought that the rider and his horse, with the sun on the man's flashing blue eyes and the horse's golden dapples, constituted the prettiest picture she had ever seen.
It stretched, smooth and white, away into the dusk. The air was clear as on a mountain top, with just enough crispness to create energy. Of wind there was scarcely a breath. She was not pleased at all with Harboro's friend. He had assumed the attitude of a deferential guide, and his remarks were almost entirely addressed to Harboro.
In a little town people know. Life in a little town is like just one checker-board, with a game going on; but the big towns are like a lot of checkerboards, with the men on some of them in disorder, and not being watched at all." Harboro was shaking his head slowly, and she made an effort to wipe some of the blackness from the picture. "You needn't believe I didn't have standards that I kept to.
Harboro stood on the door-step and looked down and recognized Peterson. Peterson felt the dark shadow of Harboro immediately. He looked up into the gravely inquiring face above him, and then he gave voice to a new delight. "Hello! HARBORO!" He dropped Sylvia's hand as if she no longer existed. An almost indefinable change of expression occurred in his ruddy, radiant face.
"I met her riding out the road this forenoon," explained the ranchman. "Oh, yes!" said Harboro. "Yes, she enjoys riding. I'm sorry, on her account, that I haven't more liking for it myself." He went on up the hill, pondering. It was strange that Sylvia had not told him that she meant to go for a ride. She usually went into minute details touching her outings.
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