The men in Seligman’s Mercantile watched silently as the young woman in the trailing pale blue silk skirts swept out of the store.
“She’s a lardy dardy little thing, isn’t she now?” Charles Idle, the expatriate Englishman, asked. He shook his head and stretched his feet closer to the wood stove. “That dress and hat.”
Joseph Kinsinger spat a stream of tobacco toward the empty lard can by the stove. “Those silks ain’t gonna last long in this mud. And the wind’l take that hat.”
His brother Peter grinned. “You’re just worried Desi’s gonna see her and want a getup just like it,” he said.
“I wonder where’s she’s staying,” Idle said thoughtfully. “Hey Jim, where’d she say to deliver that sterling brush and comb set?”
The clerk hesitated, then shrugged. It would be all over town soon enough anyway. “The Moreno Hotel,” he said.
There was a short silence, then Idle said, “Well, I guess I’d better go see how my mine’s doing this morning,” and rose from his chair.
“I’ll bet,” Peter said sardonically, but Idle only smiled and went out.