The station was full of silent curiosity; a couple of squaws, a
serious buck Indian, and a bearded trapper or two made little secret
of their observation. In the far corner of the big, bare room, down
one side of which ran a long and littered counter, there was another,
even more interested spectator of the young couple's entrance. He
sat at a small table under one of the high, unshaded windows, and
from over a spread-out time-table he gave them a large and heavy share
of his attention. He was a man of middle age and sturdy build, round,
clean-shaven, dressed in Eastern outing clothes of dignified
correctness. He put on a pair of glasses to peer closer at the two
who came in hand in hand like adventuring children, with the lithe,
half-fearful grace of wild things.
A tall and sallow man behind the counter smiled under his long,
ragged, blond mustache and made a gesture of polite greeting.
"Well, you've sure kept us in the dark as to your movements, Peter
Garth. We had no notion there was a bride in these parts until the
sheriff brought us back word the other day. Ma'am, I'm glad to make
your acquaintance." He glanced keenly and curiously at Sylvie's
averted face.
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