Hugh studied her face with growing interest. In his sphere of life girls did not drive trains of pack horses into the rugged hills, do a man’s work in the open, have dealings with uneducated herders, and still laugh like silver bells.
She wore, he noticed, a rather heavy revolver slung at her hip. Her hand was small and shapely, but it was also brown and firm. They would make, Hugh thought, a rather dangerous combination. The eyes, wide apart and bright, looked unusually healthy and clear, and Hugh imagined that they could see quite straight over revolver sights. The man understood why she had been able to ply her occupation in safety. Woe to the herder that would presume upon their isolation!
“Labor is scarce, I suppose?” Hugh asked. What he was really trying to find out was how long this position of sheep herder would be thrust upon him. He had yielded himself to enough folly for one day, and he had no intention of committing himself to a position as sheep herder for the rest of his natural life. As soon as they could find a substitute,—but Hugh didn’t finish the sentence. He suddenly realized that thence on he had no plans.
The girl looked up, rather sober of face. “Good labor is very scarce,” she agreed honestly. “But we can’t pay more than two dollars a day. You see—you’re inexperienced.”
Secretly he thought that she was bluffing, that she would pay a much higher price to retain him as shepherd of the flock. But he didn’t voice the thought. “Two dollars a day is all right,” he said. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask you. There’s some other things I want to know—that I feel I have a right to know. That man was murdered, and the guide thought it was because of a fight between the sheepmen and cattlemen. I don’t care to have some one come up here and find me murdered, too.”
The girl seemed distressed. It was the first time since their meeting that she seemed to lack words. Then she looked up fearlessly.
“I wish I could tell you differently,” she said. “A sheep woman has no right to be honest, in these days. The Indian told you the truth. Dan was murdered, not for personal reasons, but because the cattlemen—a little, evil group of them—want to destroy this flock of sheep—just why I’ll tell you later. And that’s the chance you must take.”
“It’s a real chance?”
Again she flinched. “They seem to be willing to go to any lengths to beat us.”
“But it’s a chance worth taking,” he said with a sudden lightness of heart. “I’ll keep the job for a while at least.”