“Some of ’em,” Robin hazarded. “Lots don’t. I’ve seen a college cow-hand or two that made up poetry about the range. Most of us haven’t got the education to say or write what we think. We just whoop when we feel good over anything and let it go at that. People from the East reckon we’re part human, anyway.”
“I’m not from the East,” May laughed. “I was born here, within sight of where we sit. And if my father hadn’t made a lot of money in cattle I’d probably be like the cowboys—whoop when I felt good, without knowing why. As it is——”
She stopped abruptly.
Robin turned sidewise in his saddle.
“I expect,” said he, “you’re crammed full of education. You’ve read all the books in the world. You can talk like a professor. And play the piano to beat the band. You’ll marry a French count or an English lord and live in a castle, and wear silk dresses all the time.”
May rocked in her saddle.
“You’re funny, Robin Tyler,” she chuckled. “Is that your idea of the proper setting for a cattleman’s daughter?”
“Well, if she’s got thirty thousand cattle behind her I guess the sky’s the limit,” Robin answered dryly.
“Possibly. Thirty thousand cattle is the important thing—in men’s eyes.”
There was something in her tone that made Robin momentarily uncomfortable. May sat staring off across the rolling land.