“Wish he could cure me,” said Sam Whitemore. “I ain't afraid o' man or beast, or anything but a woman.”
“Women won't hurt you,” I argued.
“No, but they can make ye awful 'shamed.”
It seemed very curious—the timidity of this big, powerful man. I had seen him handle a ton of wheat in five minutes.
“They all look dangerous to me,” he added. Then he sighed and exclaimed, “Heavens to Betsey!”
“Isn't Fannie willing to marry you?” I asked.
“Looks that way, but maybe she's only foolin'.” He shook his head nervously, and added: “If she was you'd see me light out. I wouldn't stop runnin' this side o' Californey.”
“Don't be afraid,” was my ready counsel. “She wants to marry you or she wouldn't have asked you to come.”
As if inspired with new courage, he drew up the reins and touched his horse with the whip.
“I'll ask her if it kills me,” he said, his brow wrinkling with determination.