"You shouldn't have to believe, Sam," Jane said.
He looked up at her dully. "No?"
"No, because Davey is your boy."
"Yes—that's true."
"And when one comes to the end of belief there is faith to carry one further."
Sam got slowly to his feet and now seemed suddenly weary. He spoke softly as though to himself. "I should not need faith. After all, I've put my finger in the wound—" He looked at Biddy with his characteristic suddenness. "Biddy-baby—perhaps your friend in the ridges—maybe he would—"
Sam stopped, floundering—suddenly out of his depth. All his life he had been a proud man; never in his life had he asked anyone for a favor and even though it was for Davey, he did not know the process of asking.
Perhaps he would have got the words out even then, but before Jane could help him, another fear blocked the way—Dan Parker's fear. In his mind he saw Davey whole and unbroken, riding the saddle Dan Parker now rode. And while he hated his selfishness—recognized it for the evil and the criminal weakness it was—he still instinctively blocked the way—spoke the words that stopped Sam Taber's plea: "I think you'd better lie down a while, young lady. Get some rest. You were out too early this morning."
It was an inconsequential barrier, but enough to straighten Sam Taber—bring his natural coldness to the surface—end his plea. He turned toward the door. "You might as well take the rest of the day off, Dan. Won't be much work done today anyhow. See you tomorrow morning."