“The curtain’s down between me and everything I want,” Joan said, a wistful note of loneliness in her low, soft voice. “I’m going to ride away some day and push it aside, and see what it’s been keeping from me all the years of my longing. Then, maybe, when I’m satisfied I’ll come back and make money. I’ve got sense enough to see it’s here to be made if a person’s got the sheep to start with and the range to run them on.”
“Yes, you’ll have to go,” said he, in what seemed sad thoughtfulness, “to learn it all; I can’t teach you the things your heart desires most to know. Well, there are bitter waters and sweet waters, Joan; we’ve got to drink them both.”
“It’s the same way here,” she said, “only we’ve got sense enough to know the alkali holes before we drink out of them.”
“But people are not that wise the world over, Joan.”
Joan stood in silent thought, her far-reaching gaze on the dim curtain of haze which hung between her and the world of men’s activities, strivings, and lamentations.
“If I had the money I’d go as soon––as soon as I knew a little more,” she said. “But I’ve got to stick; I made that bargain with dad––he’d never give me the 71 money, but he’ll buy me out when I’ve got enough to stake me.”
“Your father was over this morning.”
“Yes, I know.”
“He thinks my education’s advanced far enough to trust me with a band of sheep. I’m going to have charge of the flock I’ve been running here with Dad Frazer.”
“I heard about it.”