“Thanks!” she said, folding the napkin neatly. “I thought you had my number for the worst ever. It’s wonderful what food will do for a man. Hope she will let me stay at the top of the hill while I get an appetite. The doctor said I didn’t need medicine—just the right kind of food, rest and good air. I wouldn’t have got them, maybe, but for you, and I suppose I haven’t been very grateful.”
Her tone was low and wistful. A look she hadn’t seen before—a kindly, sympathetic look—leapt to his eyes and softened the harshness of his features.
“Have you been sick, real sick?” he asked.
“Yes; clean played out, the doctor said.”
“Then I am glad I brought you. We will make you well physically, anyway.”
“And maybe the other will follow?”
“It will, if you will try to do right. Will you?”
“Sure. I’ve always tried—most always. I can’t be very bad up at the top of a hill, unless I get lonesome. You’d better tell that ‘best woman’ to double-lock things. It’s with stealing the same as with drinking—if anything you crave is lying around handy, good-bye to good resolutions.”
“I’ll see to that. I’m a sheriff, remember.”
“Look, sheriff!”