He got off Patches, led him to the shade of the house, hitched him, and then returned to the porch, taking a chair near her.
“Aunt Martha says you were born here,” Ruth said. “Have you always been a cowboy?”
A flash that came into his eyes was concealed by a turn of the head. So she had asked Aunt Martha about him.
“I don’t remember ever bein’ anything else. As far back as I c’n recollect, there’s been cows hangin’ around.”
“Have you traveled any?”
“To Denver, Frisco, Kansas City. I was in Utah, once, lookin’ over the Mormons. They’re a curious lot, ma’am. I never could see what on earth a man wanted half a dozen wives for. One can manage a man right clever. But half a dozen! Why, they’d be pullin’ one another’s hair out, fightin’ over him! One would be wantin’ him to do one thing, an’ another would be wantin’ him to do another. An’ between them, the man would be goin’ off to drown himself.”
“But a woman doesn’t always manage her husband,” she defended.
“Don’t she, ma’am?” he said gently, no guile in his eyes. “Why, all the husbands I’ve seen seemed to be pretty well managed. You can see samples of it every day, ma’am, if you look around. Young fellows that have acted pretty wild when they was single, always sort of steady down when they’re hooked into double harness. They go to actin’ quiet an’ subdued-like—like they’d lost all interest in life. I reckon it must be their wives managin’ them, ma’am.”
“It’s a pity, isn’t it?” she said, her chin lifting.
“The men seem to like it, ma’am. Every day there’s new ones makin’ contracts for managers.”