Етюд у багряних тонах
The Flower of Utah.
“ThankGodyoukeptyourseat,”theothersaidearnestly. Hewasatall,savage-lookingyoungfellow,mountedonapowerfulroanhorse,andcladintheroughdressofahunter,withalongrifleslungoverhisshoulders. “IguessyouarethedaughterofJohnFerrier,”heremarked,“Isawyouridedownfromhishouse. Whenyouseehim,askhimifherememberstheJeffersonHopesofSt.Louis. Ifhe’sthesameFerrier,myfatherandhewereprettythick.”
“Hadn’tyoubettercomeandaskyourself?”sheasked,demurely.
Theyoungfellowseemedpleasedatthesuggestion,andhisdarkeyessparkledwithpleasure. “I’lldoso,”hesaid,“we’vebeeninthemountainsfortwomonths,andarenotoverandaboveinvisitingcondition. Hemusttakeusashefindsus.”
“Hehasagooddealtothankyoufor,andsohaveI,”sheanswered, “he’sawfulfondofme.Ifthosecowshadjumpedonmehe’dhavenevergotoverit.”
“NeitherwouldI,”saidhercompanion.
“You!Well,Idon’tseethatitwouldmakemuchmattertoyou,anyhow.Youain’tevenafriendofours.”
Theyounghunter’sdarkfacegrewsogloomyoverthisremarkthatLucyFerrierlaughedaloud.
“There,Ididn’tmeanthat,”shesaid;“ofcourse,youareafriendnow. Youmustcomeandseeus. NowImustpushalong,orfatherwon’ttrustmewithhisbusinessanymore. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye,”heanswered,raisinghisbroadsombrero,andbendingoverherlittlehand. Shewheeledhermustanground,gaveitacutwithherriding-whip,anddartedawaydownthebroadroadinarollingcloudofdust.
