“I guess, Jinny,” he continued, still gazing afar, “that the best of one thing’s about as good as the best of another. What do you think about it?”
As Jinny did not commit herself he sat down upon a rock and reached out to scratch the shaggy gray head.
“If I’d got back to Iowa when I wanted to,” he went on, “I’d most likely be dead by now.”
Jinny’s head drooped till her nose rested upon his knee, and she nodded off to sleep. Gard let her stay and sat looking off across the valley, his mind full of new emotion.
“A man might think,” he slowly mused, considering the mystery of his coming to this place, “that ’twas what old Deacon Stebbins used to call a ‘leading’.”
He turned the thought over in his mind.
“Why not?” he asked.
His eyes rested upon one toil hardened hand as it lay upon Jinny’s back. He held it up, surveying it curiously.
“Rather different, from what it was,” he thought, clenching it into a great fist. “Yah—” with sudden anger, “It’ll be different for Ashley Westcott if ever he comes to feel it.”
His mind dwelt upon that possibility.