“In experience he’s no lad, and I’m glad you’ve discovered it,” said Tim, warming a little, speaking with more softness, not without admiration for her penetration. “He’ll be the better able to look after you, and see they don’t get his money away from him like some simpleton.”
“Oh, they’ll get it, all right.”
Tim had arrived that morning from a near-by camp as Joan was about to set out for Dad Frazer’s. From his way of plunging abruptly into this matter, which he never had discussed with her before, and his sharpness and apparent displeasure with her, Joan knew that he had seen Reid overnight. They were beside the sheep-wagon, to a wheel of which Joan’s horse was tied, all saddled and ready to mount. The sun was already high, for Joan had helped Charley range the flock out for its day’s grazing, and had put all things to rights in the camp, anxious as her mind was over Mackenzie’s state.
“I’ll not have you treat the lad like a beggar come to ask of you, Joan; I’ll not have it at all. Be civil with him; use him kindly when he speaks.”
“He’s a thousand years older than I am; he knows things that you never heard of.”
“Somebody’s been whisperin’ slanders of him in your ear. He’s a fine lad, able to hold his own among men, take ’em where they’re found. Don’t you heed what the jealous say about the boy, Joan; don’t you let it move you at all.”
“I wouldn’t have him if he brought his million in a wheelbarrow and dumped it at my feet.”
“It’s not a million, as I hear it,” Tim corrected, mildly, even a bit thoughtfully, “not more nor a half.”
“Then he’s only half as desirable,” smiled Joan, the little gleam of humor striking into her gloomy hour like a sudden ray of sun.