“Thanks,” said John, grinning a dry grin.
“Yes,” reminiscently, with great satisfaction, “Malcolm made the proposition to me, hit me with it so sudden it nearly took my breath. ‘Marry him to your Joan when you make a man of him,’ he says. I said maybe he wouldn’t want to hitch up with a sheepman’s daughter that was brought up on the range. ‘If he don’t he can go to work and make his own way––I’ll not leave him a dam’ cent!’ says Malcolm. We shook hands on it; he said he’d put it in his will. And that’s cinched so it can’t slip.”
When Tim mounted to leave he looked round the 135 range again with a drawing of trouble in his face, as if he searched the peaceful landscape for the shadow of wings.
“I ain’t got another sheep-wagon to give you right now, John; I guess you’ll have to make out with a tent till winter,” he said.
“I’d rather have it,” Mackenzie replied.
Tim leaned over, hand to one side of his mouth, speaking in low voice, yet not whispering:
“And remember what I said about that matter, John. Stuff, but don’t founder.”
“Stuff,” said John, but with an inflection that gave the word a different meaning, quite.