There was an immediate silence and then Bowers cleared his throat noisily.
“Night 'fore last was tol'able chilly in your wagon, I reckon?”
Her face sobered.
“It was—terrible! I couldn’t sleep for the cold, and thinking about and pitying the stock on the range, and anybody that had to be out in it. I was glad Uncle Joe was safe in Prouty—there was no need for us both to be out here suffering.”
Again there was silence, and once more Bowers came to the rescue with a feeble witticism, at which he himself laughed hollowly:
“I hearn that a feller eatin’ supper with a steel knife got his tongue froze to it, and they had a time thawin’ him over the tea kettle.”
Kate rose to clear away and wash the dishes, but Bowers motioned her to remain seated.
“You rest yourself, Ma'am. I was a pearl diver in a restauraw fer three months onct so I am, you might say, a professional.”
“Uncle Joe and I take turns,” Kate laughed, “for neither of us likes it.”
“That’s the best way,” Bowers agreed, breaking the constrained silence which fell each time Mormon Joe’s name was mentioned. “More pardners has fell out over dish-washin’ and the throwin’ of diamond hitches than any other causes.”