“After all our neighbors have done for him,” she cried bitterly; “after giving him hay, when his was burned and he couldn't buy any; after building stables, and corral, and—everything they did—the kindest, best neighbors a man ever had—oh, it's too shameful for utterance! I might forgive it—I might, only for that. The—the ingratitude! It's too despicable—too—”
Kent laid a steadying hand upon her arm.
“Yes—but what is it?” he interrupted.
Val shook off his hand unconsciously, impatient of any touch.
“Oh, the bare deed itself—well, it's rather petty, too—and cheap.” Her voice became full of contempt. “It was the calves. He brought home five last night—five that hadn't been branded last spring. Where he found them I don't know—I didn't care enough about it to ask. He had been drinking, I think; I can usually tell—and he often carries a bottle in his pocket, as I happen to know.
“Well, he had me make a fire and heat the iron for him, and he branded them—last night; he was very touchy about it when I asked him what was his hurry. I think now it was a stupid thing for him to do. And—well, in the night, some time, I heard a cow bawling around close, and this morning I went out to drive her away; the fence is always down somewhere—I suppose she found a place to get through. So I went out to drive her away.” Her eyes dropped, as if she were making a confession of her own misdeed. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap.
“Well—it was a Wishbone cow.” After all, she said it very quietly.
“The devil it was!” Kent had been prepared for something of the sort; but, nevertheless, he started when he heard his own outfit mentioned.
“Yes. It was a Wishbone cow.” Her voice was flat and monotonous. “He had stolen her calf. He had it in the corral, and he had branded it with his own brand—with a VP. With my initials!” she wailed suddenly, as if the thought had just struck her, and was intolerably bitter. “She had followed—had been hunting her calf; it was rather a little calf, smaller than the others. And it was crowded up against the fence, trying to get to her. There was no mistaking their relationship. I tried to think he had made a mistake; but it's of no use—I know he didn't. I know he stole that calf. And for all I know, the others, too. Oh, it's perfectly horrible to think of!”
Kent could easily guess her horror of it, and he was sorry for her. But his mind turned instantly to the practical side of it.