“Well—maybe it can be fixed up, if you feel so bad about it. Does Polycarp—did he see the cow hanging around?”
Val shook her head apathetically. “No—he didn't come till just a little while ago. That was this morning. And I drove her out of the coulee—her and her calf. They went off up over the hill.”
Kent stood looking down at her rather stupidly.
“You—what? What was it you did?” It seemed to him that something—some vital point of the story—had eluded him.
“I drove them away. I didn't think they ought to be permitted to hang around here.” Her lips quivered again. “I—I didn't want to see him—get—into any trouble.”
“You drove them away? Both of them?” Kent was frowning at her now.
Val sprang up and faced him, all a-tremble with indignation. “Certainly, both! I'm not a thief, Kent Burnett! When I knew—when there was no possible doubt—why, what, in Heaven's name, could I do? It wasn't Manley's calf. I turned it loose to go back where it belonged.”
“With a VP on its ribs!” Kent was staring at her curiously.
“Well, I don't care! Fifty VP's couldn't make the calf Manley's. If anybody came and saw that cow, why—” Val looked at him rafter pityingly, as if she could not quite understand how he could even question her upon that point. “And, after all,” she added forlornly, “he's my husband. I couldn't—I had to do what I could to shield him—just for sake of the past, I suppose. Much as I despise him, I can't forget that—that I cared once. It's because I wanted your advice that I—”
“It's a pity you didn't get it sooner, then! Can't you see what you've done? Why, think a minute! A VP calf running with a Wishbone cow—why, it's—you couldn't advertise Man as a rustler any better if you tried. The first fellow that runs onto that cow and calf—well, he won't need to do any guessing—he'll know. It's a ticket to Deer Lodge—that VP calf. Now do you see?” He turned away to the window and stood looking absently at the brown hillside, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.