And that, Casey reflected, was by way of being a high compliment; for Sheila had more sense than most men. He would take her opinion on any subject as well worth consideration. She and Clyde Burnaby were two young women very much above the ordinary run—in his opinion, at least.
Idly he wondered if chance would ever bring them together. Unlikely. Because he had nothing else to do at the moment, he amused himself by a process of transposition, of transmigration. He imagined Clyde Burnaby in Sheila's place, riding Beaver Boy over the brown swells, along the narrow trails and abrupt rises of the foothills, raising several hundred chickens, helping with the housework, the mending—all the daily feminine chores that fell to the lot of a rancher's womenkind. Would she be as good a friend to him as Sheila had been? And he fancied Sheila in her place—tailor-mades and evening gowns instead of riding skirts, Paris instead of pony hats, with nothing in particular to do but have a good time and spend money. Make good? Of course she would. She was clean-cut, thoroughbred, smart as a whip. Perhaps she wasn't quite as good-looking as Miss Burnaby; but, after all, that was largely a matter of taste. She was a different style.
He looked at the check lying on his knee, and laughed at the idea of interest on ten dollars. He had forgotten all about that conceit, but she had not. He would frame the check—yes, that was what he would do. In time there would be quite a bunch of them—that is, if she remembered to send them. Well, anyway, he would have to acknowledge it, and he might as well do it at once.
He went indoors and began to write. He had intended but a brief note, but in construction it lengthened. With him letter writing was never an effort. He wrote as easily as he talked, colloquially, without any attempt at style or set phrase. Soon he found himself tersely describing the water situation, forecasting the probabilities. As these were not too cheering, he frowned and added an optimistic sentence or two for general effect. He concluded with a hope that she would some time honour his country with a visit, when his ranch and all it contained—including its owner—would be entirely at her service.
On his way to post the letter he passed Glass, still struggling with his own composition. That poor devil! A perfect type of incompetent. He was too slow and timid for the West—too old to learn the lessons of self-reliance and adaptability of a new land. However, that was his own affair. If he would work he could make a living, and that was all that he or those like him could make anywhere.
Dunne strolled down to the station to mail his letter in the box there; and, as he turned the corner of the building, he came full upon Farwell and another burly individual in conversation with Quilty, the station agent.
"Tell them to start a tracer from the other end after those car numbers," Farwell was commanding; "and you start one from here. I've got to have them right away; work's at a standstill. Those cursed fatheads in the freight department don't know enough to shovel ballast. Get after them with a sharp stick."
"I'll do me best for ye," Quilty promised; "but freight on this line comes whin ut comes."
"It will come when I want it, or somebody will lose a job," said Farwell. "I'm not the ordinary consignee, and you can tell them that, too."
"I'll do that same," said Quilty; "but I misdoubt if a cyar wheel turns the faster for ut. I mind back in eighty-five—or maybe 'twas eighty-three ut was—whin O'Brien—'Flapjack' O'Brien they called him then, though he's climbed high enough since—well, whin O'Brien was a plain, iveryday, thievin' conthractor, and a dom bad wan at that, he had a nephew named Burke that married a Finnegan—or maybe ut was Finucane—whose father pulled ould Sivinty-six, a wood-burnin' monsthrosity iv an ingin' that be th' grace iv God an' a full sand box might be good for a 3-per-cent grade anny dry day in summer but a Friday. Annyways, as I started to tell ye, Danny Powers fired for Finnegan or Finucane, whichever ut was, and him and this Burke——"