The light brought into clearer outline the brown peaks and beetling
crags that rose bleak and bare above the wealth of color, beyond the
dark, evergreen stretches of pines and mountain cedars. The gorgeous
tail of a peacock spread and gleamed under the cherry-trees in the back
yard. A sleek calf was running back and forth in a little lot, and a
brindled cow was bellowing mellowly, her head thrown up as she cantered
down the road, her heavy bag swinging under her.
At the sight of the woman a flock of ducks, chickens, and geese
gathered round her. She shooed the fowls away with her apron. "They
want the'r supper," she said, as she led her guest back to the front
yard. She went to the gate and looked down the road. "I see Luke at
the branch," she added, coming back to him; "he'd be on faster ef he
knowed you wus heer."
Luke Bradley was about fifty years of age. He had blue eyes, a long
body, long arms, and long legs. His hair was reddish brown and his
face florid and freckled. He walked with a shambling gait, stooped
considerably, and swung his arms.
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