The walls were decorated
with gaudy lithographs, circus posters and colored sheets taken from the
Sunday papers that occasionally drifted out that way. On a side table
were a number of well-thumbed magazines that Mrs. Melton had sent down
for the men to read in their rare moments of leisure. Saddles and harness
and lariats were hung on nails driven into the logs. Everything was rude
and simple, but scrupulously clean. The floor had been recently swept and
the oilcloth on the table was shining.
In a little extension at the southern end of the shack the cook was
clearing away the dishes from breakfast and making ready for the
noon-day meal. A couple of great dogs basked in the sunshine that
streamed through the open door. They jumped to their feet as their owner
approached and capered about him joyously in a manner that bespoke their
attachment.
A lank, muscular man at this moment came around a corner of the house.
His face was tanned to the color of mahogany and around his eyes were the
tiny wrinkles that come to men accustomed to peer into the wide spaces.
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