Jack seemed in a quandary as he replied quietly, “Leaving out all superfluous words, you mean that I am a coward.”
“Not exactly coward, but you are shirking a grave responsibility.”
“A shirk, then,” he corrected. “You are very frank, Miss Nelson.”
But Dora was out of the room by this time, leaving him wholesome food for reflection. More than anything else, Jack detested a “coward” or “shirk,” and the thought of his appearing in the guise of one was not pleasant. It nettled him, but his judgment told him that Dora’s philosophy was sound, and when the doctor next came, he saw a decided change for the better in his patient. Soon he was able to go for a short ride on Clicker, and the doctor exchanged knowing looks with Mrs. Nelson.
CHAPTER XI
AUGUST came and for nine months not a drop of rain had fallen. The earth looked burned up, and the grass was so dry that in travelling through it it flew into dust which the wind sent whirling over the plain. No crop promised to be a good one. The sun beat pitilessly down on the brown fields and cattle subsisted mainly on mesquit beans that dangled their long pods in the never-ceasing wind.
“All in the world this country needs is water,” thought Jack who was studying irrigation schemes. Water from the streams was impracticable and he now decided to bore on his tract of one hundred and sixty acres just northeast of Brockman’s Point, and have his irrigation plant ready and in operation by the middle of September, superintending the work himself. But it was well into December before the work was completed, and he was returning from a final inspection when whom should he meet but Tim Watson.
“Howdy there, young Yank!” the latter called out to Jack.
“Well I declare if it isn’t Mr. Watson!” Jack shouted, bounding forward.