Mackenzie turned to look again at the boy, who was coming back with the horses.
“Do you think he’ll stick?” he asked.
“Yes, he promised the old man he would, and if he’s anything like Malcolm, he’ll eat fire before he’ll break his word. Malcolm and me we come to terms in ten words. The kid’s to work three years for me without pay; then I’ll marry him to my Joan.”
Mackenzie felt his blood come up hot, and sink down again, cold; felt his heart kick in one resentful surge, then fall away to weakness as if its cords had been cut. Tim laughed, looking down the draw toward the sheep.
“It’s something like that Jacob and Laban deal you spoke about the other day,” said he. “Curious how things come around that way, ain’t it? There I went ridin’ off, rakin’ up my brains to remember that story, and laughed when it come to me all of a sudden. Jacob skinned them willow sticks, and skinned the old man, too. But I don’t guess Earl would turn a trick like that on me, even if he could.”
“How about Joan? Does she agree to the terms?” Mackenzie could not forbear the question, even though his throat was dry, his lips cold, his voice husky at the first word.
“She’ll jump at it,” Tim declared, warmly. “She wants to go away from here and see the world, and this will be her chance. I don’t object to her leavin’, either, as long as it don’t cost me anything. You go ahead and stuff her, John; stuff her as full of learnin’ as she’ll hold. It’ll be cheaper for me than sendin’ her off to school and fittin’ her up to be a rich man’s wife, and you can do her just as much good––more, from what she tells me. You go right ahead and stuff her, John.”
“Huh!” said John.
“Earl, he’ll look after your sheep while you’re teachin’ Joan her books. Stuff her, but don’t founder her, John. If any man can fit her up to prance in high society, I’d bet my last dollar you can. You’re a kind of a gentleman yourself, John.”