I ain't had no chance to aggravate him real
good, outside of askin' him how his post-holes was winterin' through,
when I'd meet up with him on the trail, an' invitin' him to go over to
the Long Horn to have a snort of tea, a time or two, down to Wolf
River."
At the up-slanting bank where they had sought refuge from the valley he
dismounted, wrenched his own saddle out of the mud, and examined the
broken cinch. "If the pilgrim hadn't saved me the trouble, I'd of sure
had to get Purdy for that," he muttered, and looked up to encounter the
eyes of the girl, who was watching him from the top of the bank. Her
face was very white, and the sight stirred a strange discomfort within
him. "I bet she wouldn't turn no such colour for me, if I'd be'n
drowned for a week," he thought, bitterly.
"You--didn't find him?" The words came with an effort.
The Texan forced a smile: "I wouldn't have be'n here if I hadn't. Or
rather Bat did, an' I found the two of 'em. He's all to the mustard
an' none the worse for wear, except his clothes--they won't never look
quite the same, an' his socks need mendin' in sixty or seventy spots.
They'll be along directly. You run along and fix 'em up some breakfast
an' keep out of sight. I'm goin' to do a little scoutin' an', maybe,
won't be back 'til pretty near dark.
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