"Y' think mebbe she takes after her ma?" ventured the section-boss.
Dallas nodded.
"No, no," he said, "she favours me, an' they's no need t' fret. They's nothin' th' matter with her—jus' off her oats a leetle, thet's all."
The developments of the next morning swept every thought from Dallas' mind save those concerning the journey. For, when it came time to harness the mules, she found that Ben had unaccountably gone lame. Whether his mate had kicked him, or whether he had sprained a leg while exercising the previous afternoon, she did not know. But it was plain that, as far as he went, the miles between quarter-section and land-office were impossible. At once, Dallas suggested that Betty be driven single to a small pung that had been built for water-hauling when the well froze up. Accordingly, the mule was put before the sleigh. Failure resulted. Though both Dallas and her father alternately coaxed and scolded, Betty, with characteristic stubbornness, refused to budge a rod from the lean-to without Ben.
Dallas was in despair. "She won't go, she won't go," she said. "We've got to think of some other way."
"Yestiddy," observed the section-boss, as he unfastened the tugs, "y' said it wouldn' matter ef Ah didn' go now." He was somewhat complacent over the outcome of the hitch-up.
"I don't feel that way now," asserted Dallas.
"Thet ol' man up at th' leetle ben' has hosses," he volunteered when they were again within the shack.
"He took 'em to Clark's two months ago, and walked back."
"Wal, how 'bout th' Norwegian over by th' Mountain?"