"Once she come to me crying, and she says, 'Curly, I love him!'—she meant that man next door. And I know for shore now he wasn't fit to wipe her feet on."
Old Man Wright he set down then, quiet like. I couldn't help him none, I had to set and see him take it. It was awful.
"She said that—she loved him? How long ago?"
"A few weeks, maybe," says I. "I never could get the nerve to tell you then. I hoped she'd get to see how foolish it was for her to care for a cheap gardener—I thought she'd be too proud for that. And then I allowed she'd, like enough, marry Tom Kimberly, and that'd change her and it'd all come out all right. All the time I was hoping and trying to save both her and you. I been nigh about crazy, Colonel. And all the time, of course, I was only a damn fool cowpuncher, without any brains."
"She's gone!" says he, after a time.
"Yes," says I; "near as I can figure, she's thought about it all night and concluded it'd be best for her not to marry Tom, feeling like she did about this other man. She's shook us, Colonel. But, believe me, she wasn't never happy doing that. It must of been like death to her."
"Why did she do it, Curly?" he whispered. "How could she? Why?"
"I done told you, Colonel," says I. "It was because she found she was a woman. She hadn't knew that before—nor us neither."
At length he got up, but he couldn't stand up straight.
"How can we keep this quiet?" says he.