"When you git kicked on a bone," he said, "it hurts worse. She's swelled up some, but I reckon she'll get well in a few days or weeks. I don't think she's busted much, though at first I thought he'd knocked the knee cap plump off. There's a cut in above there. Cork of the shoe must of hit me there."
The gravity of her face was her answer. She could see nothing.
"I reckon you can smell that whiskey," said he, "but I ain't drunk none—it's just on my leg, that's all."
"You're not a drinking man?" she asked.
"Why, yes, of course I am. All of us people out here drinks more or less when they can git it—this is a dry state. But I allow I'll cut it out fer a while, now, ma'am."
"Ain't you hungry now, ma'am?" he added. "We didn't have a bite to eat all day."
"Yes," said she. "But how can I help cook supper—what can I do?"
"There ain't much you need to do, ma'am. If I've lived here alone all this time, and lived alone everywhere else fer thirty-seven years, I reckon I can cook one more meal."
"For your housekeeper!" she said, smiling bitterly.
"Well, yes," he replied. "You don't know where things is yet. I got some bacon here, and aigs too. I brought out some oranges from town—fer you." She did not see him color shyly. Oranges were something Sim Gage never had brought to his ranch before. He had bought them of the Park commissary at the station.