“You took away Joan’s ewe lambs, and her buck lambs, and all her lambs, more than a thousand of them, after she’d served you through sun and storm and earned them like a man. No, I don’t think I could trust you two years, Mr. Sullivan; I don’t believe your memory would hold you to a bargain that long, seeing that it would be in the family, especially.”
“I’ll give Joan back her flock, to run it like she was runnin’ it, and I’ll put it in writin’ with you both. Two years, we’ll say, John––two short easy years.”
“No.”
“Don’t you throw away your chances now, John, don’t you do it, lad. If you marry my Joan now I’ll give you not a sheep, not one blind wether! But if you’ll stay by me a year for her I’ll give you a weddin’ at the end of that time they’ll put big in the papers at Cheyenne, and I’ll hand over to you three thousand sheep, in your own name.”
“I’m not thinking as much about sheep as I was three months ago,” said Mackenzie, yawning as though he had grown tired of the subject. “Joan and I have made our plans; you can approve them or turn them down. We’re going away when we’re married.”
“Goin’ away!” said Tim, his voice betraying the hollowness of his heart.
“But we’re coming back–––”
“Comin’ back?” said Tim, gladness in every note.
“Joan’s heart is in the sheep range––she couldn’t tear it away if she tried. She thought she wanted to go, but I’ll have hard work to get her farther than Jasper. Joan had the lonesomeness; she’s cured now.”