He laughed.
“Oh, I can do a lot of things,” he said. “I’m strong in the arms, and I can dig and wash for gold-dust, or look after horses, or—or—or anything.”
She was silent for a minute or two, then she said:
“How did you get into a row at Dog’s Ear?”
He colored.
“Oh, it was nothing much,” he said. “A brute of a fellow was ill-treating a dog. He seemed to think that because it belonged to him, he had a right to knock it about. I didn’t agree with him, and we came to words, and then to blows. His pals took his part, and seeing I was not going to have a fair fight, I made a bolt for it. He won’t be able to knock that dog about for a week or two,” he added, simply.
“And you stood up against the whole camp for a dog?” she said, with a note of admiration in her voice. “Yes,” she added, eying him thoughtfully; “I should think you would. And then they hit you in the leg, and followed you up and fired at you from behind a bush. That’s like Dog’s Ear. But just wait until I tell the boys. They’ll teach ’em to shoot at a friend of mine.”
He blushed like a girl.
“Oh, am I a friend of yours? Thank you.”
She looked at him with surprise.