Buddy--grown to plain Bud among
his fellows--turned red without losing the line of hardness
that had come to his lips.
"You're of legal age to be called a man, and the future's
before ye. I'll give ye five hundred cows with their calves
beside them--you can choose them yourself, for you've a
sharp eye for stock--and you can go where ye will. Or I'll
give ye ten thousand dollars and ye can go to Europe and make
tunes if you're a mind to. And whatever ye choose it'll be
make or break with ye. Ye can sleep on the decision, for
I've no wish that ye should choose hastily and be sorry
after."
Buddy--grown to Bud--lifted a booted foot and laid it across
his other knee and with his forefinger absently whirled the
long-pointed rower on his spur. The hardness at his lips
somehow spread to his eyes, that were bent on the whirring
rower. It was the look that had come into the face of the
baby down on the Staked Plains when Ezra called and called
after he had been answered twice; the look that had held firm
the lips of the boy who had lain very flat on his stomach in
the roof of the dugout and had watched the Utes burning the
cabin.
"There's no need to sleep on it," he said after a minute.
"You've raised me, and spent some money on me--but I've
saved you a man's wages ever since I was ten.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80