Cautiously Jed Avery had watched Danny's face, and when he saw anxiety show there as doubt rose, he broke into words:
"Yes, sir, Charley was sure a good boy, but th' booze got him."
He looked down at his horse's withers so he could not see the start this assertion gave Danny.
"He didn't want to be bad, but it's so easy to let go. To be sure, it is. Anyhow, Charley never had a chance, never a look-in. He was good hearted an' meant well—but he didn't have th' backbone."
And Danny found that a rage commenced to rise within him, a rage which drove back those queries that had made him weak.
Day waned. The sun slid down behind the string of cliffs which stretched on before them at their left. Distances took on their purple veils, a canopy of virgin silver spread above the earth, and the stillness became more intense.
"Right on here a bit now we'll stop," Jed said. "This's th' Anchor Ranch. They're hayin', an' full up. We'll get somethin' to eat, though, an' feed for th' ponies. Then we'll sleep on th' ground. Ever do it?"
"Never."
"Well, you've got somethin' comin', then. With a sky for a roof a man gets close to whatever he calls his God—an' to himself. Some fellers out here never seem to see th' point. Funny. I been sleepin' out, off an' on, for longer than I like to think about—an' they's a feelin' about it that don't come from nothin' else in th' world."
"You think it's a good thing, then, for a man to get close to himself?"