The man's thoughts were far less analytical. His was not the nature to search the psychology of a beautiful girl. To him Joan was the most wonderful thing on earth. She was something to be reverenced, to be worshipped. His imagination, fired by all his youthful impulse, endowed her with every gift that the mind of simple manhood could conceive, every virtue, every beauty of mind as well as body.
Joan watched him for some moments as he continued his work. It was wonderful how easy he made it seem, how quickly it was done. She even found herself regretting that in a few minutes the morning "chores" would be finished, and this man would be away to--where?
"You must have been up very early to get over here," she said designedly. Her girlish curiosity and interest could no longer be denied. She must find out what he was and what he did for a living.
"I'm mostly up early," he replied simply.
"Yes, of course. But--you have your own--stock to see to?"
She felt quite pleased with her cunning. But her pleasure was short-lived.
"Sure," he returned, with disarming frankness.
"It really doesn't seem fair that you should have the double work," she went on, with another attempt to penetrate his reserve.
Buck's smile was utterly baffling. He walked to the door of the barn and gave a prolonged, low whistle. Then he came back.
"It sure wouldn't be fair if I didn't," he said simply.
"But you must have heaps to do on your--farm," Joan went on, feeling that she was on the right track at last "Look at what you're doing for me. These horses, the cattle, the--the pigs and things. I've no doubt you have much more to see to of your own."
At that moment the head of Cæsar appeared in the doorway. He stared round the familiar stable evidently searching for his master. Finally catching sight of him, he clattered in to the place and rubbed his handsome head against Buck's shoulder.
"This is my stock," Buck said, affectionately rubbing the creature's nose. "An' I generally manage to see to him while the kettle's boilin' for breakfast."
Just for a moment Joan felt abashed at her deliberate attempt to pump her companion. Then the quick, inquiring survey of the beautiful horse was too much for her, and she left her seat to join in the caresses.
"Isn't he a beauty?" she cried, smoothing his silken face from the star on his forehead to the tip of his wide muzzle.
Just for a second her hand came into contact with the man's, and, all unconscious, she let it remain. Then suddenly realizing the position she drew it away rather sharply.