But most of the men striding through the snow were as roughly
dressed as her uncle, and not many were as good looking as Mr.
Sherwood. Some who came out of the swinging doors of saloons
staggered, and were very noisy in their speech and rude in their
actions. Of course nobody spoke to Nan, or troubled her; Henry
Sherwood was undoubtedly a man of standing in the settlement and
highly respected.
Not far from the market place they came upon a sprawling old
tavern, with a fenced yard at one side. As they approached, a
sled drawn by a wild looking pair of rough, red-roan ponies,
dashed out of the yard and stopped at the broad front portico of
the hotel.
"Hey, Tom! What's the matter with you?" called Uncle Henry.
"Here we are!"
The driver turned a broad, good-humored face to look over his
burly shoulder. Nan saw that Tom Sherwood strongly resembled his
father.
"That you, Dad?" he drawled. "I'd about given you up. I didn't
want to drive down to the depot with these crazy creatures. And
if I'd left 'em standing they'd have kicked Phil's shed to
pieces, I do believe. The train's been in half an hour and
more."
"I know," said his father. "I had a mess of words with Ged
Raffer. That delayed me.
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