Rob's eyes softened. Poor old girl! She was doing her best, anyhow.
"I guess they won't bother us much more, Harry," he said. "I have decided that I'll put on another wire. They can't jump four."
"Another wire!" she exclaimed. "But, Rob, have you thought of the expense!"
"Not half so expensive as wasting time running them off. Well, let's get busy. If you'll fetch Jeff, I'll change these wet shoes."
Obediently, Harry went up the draw to the corral among the trees where they kept the work horses in summer. Her head ached, and there was a lump in her throat. How considerate of her Rob was! She had added just double to their difficulties, had added to their expenses, yet not one word of reproach did he give her. Instead he was always ready to help whenever she came to him—and that was pretty often. Handling cattle, she realized, was not to be learned by any "fifteen minutes a day" of study.
"Cowboys certainly earn their wages," Harry admitted with a weary sigh, when, after several hours of weary work they had at last got the strangers outside the fence and had driven back inside several of their own cattle that had gone out with the others.
It was six o'clock. They were both choked with dust, thirsty, saddle-sore and tired. Harry, aching from head to foot, longed to get into a bath and put on some clean clothes; instead, she must wash a panful of dishes and cook supper.
"You're dead right," Rob agreed. "A buckaroo earns every cent he gets, and its almost impossible to run cattle without them."
Every word was a blow to Harry's careless faith in herself. She listened in humble silence while Rob went on:
"You can understand why I can't afford to ride cattle for nothing. I've simply got to disk that summer fallow and start work on the dam for the freshet-water reservoir. Every day I spend like this means a big loss, not only to me, but to the ranch as an investment."