He nodded, tapping his spoon against the table, favorably impressed by my prompt replies. His keen eyes sought the face of the silent mountaineer.
"You know this man, Taylor?"
"Wal, I can't exactly say thet I dew, Major," he said drawlingly, shifting his feet uneasily. "He wus sorter wished on me, an' as he wus bound this way, I reckoned as how it wus best fer us to ride 'long together. He says he's a Cowan, frum over on Buffalo Crick."
"A Cowan!—you mean—"
"No, he don't claim ter be none o' ol' Ned's brood—his mar's a widder woman. They ain't no kin, I reckon."
Whatever thoughts might have been in Major Harwood's mind were concealed by an impassive face, as he sat there for a moment in silence, gazing at the two of us.
"No doubt you did what you believed to be best, Taylor," he said at last quietly. "We will talk it over later. You are both hungry enough to eat, I suppose? Draw up some chairs, and Sam will find something. No objection to remaining here over night, Cowan?"
"I'd be glad to get on, sir, but, my horse is about used up. The roads have been hard, and we have traveled rapidly."
