A chuckle of surprise greeted the man's remark.
"Why, Bruce, to hear you talk anybody'd think that you close-herded your morals continual; that you was a 'Aid S'city' wagon boss; that lips that touch liquor should never—"
"I ain't said nothin' to make you think that, Tommy Clary," the other replied, laughing at the upturned face of his challenger, who was short and pug-nosed and possessed of a mouth that refused to do anything but smile; who was completely over-shadowed and rendered top-heavy by a hat of astonishing proportions. "I drink," he went on, "like th' rest of us damn fools, but I don't think it's smart to do it. I think it is pretty much all nonsense, an' I think that when you drink you ought to associate with drinkin' folks an' let th' ones who have better sense alone.
"That's why I never ride Abe to town when I figure I'm goin' to be doin' any hellin' around; that's why, if I have got drunk by mistake when I had him here, I've slept in town instead of goin' home. Abe, you see, Tommy, has got a good deal of white man in him for a horse. He'd carry me all right if I was drunk, if I asked him to; but I won't, because he's such a good horse that he ought to always have a mighty good man on his middle. When a man's drunk, he ain't good ... for nothin'. Like this here"—with a contemptuous movement of one booted foot to indicate the huddle of a figure which lay in the lamplight.
"No, I don't make no claim to bein' a saint, Tommy. Good Lord, hombre, do you think, if I thought I was right decent all th' time, all through, I'd ever be seen swapping lies with any such ugly outcast as you are?"
The others laughed again at that, and the tall man removed his hat to wipe the moisture from his forehead.
Ann, watching from the shadows, lips pressed together, heart on a rampage from a fear that was at once groundless and natural, saw his fine profile against the lamp, as he laughed good-naturedly at the man he had jibed. His head was flung back boyishly, but about its poise, its lines, the way it was set on his sturdy neck, was an indication of superb strength, a fine mettle. His hair fell backward from the brow. It tended toward waviness and was dry and light in texture as well as in color, for the rays of the light were scattered and diffused as they shot through it. He was incredibly tall in his high-heeled riding boots, but his breadth was in proportion. The movements of his long arms, his finely moulded shoulders, his whole lithe torso were well measured, splendidly balanced, of that natural grace and assurance which marks the inherent leadership born in individuals. His voice went well with the rest of him, for it was smooth and deep and filled with capabilities of expression.
"Well, if you think all us drunkards are such buzzard fodder, what are you packin' this around with you for?" Clary asked, after the laughter had subsided.
The cowman looked down thoughtfully a moment and his face grew serious. He shook his head soberly.
"This fellow's a cripple, boys; that's all. Just a cripple," he explained.