“Papa says damn,” she insisted. “He is not bad. He is good.”
“We’ll let it go, then. Don’t other men ever come here?”
“Not many. They never come to Johnny’s Luck.”
“Why?”
“Papa kills them.”
“Good Lord!” The coolness of her statement, the careless tone, shocked him.
“We see their camp-fire smoke sometimes a long way off.”
“That’s the way you came upon me first, on the other side of the mountain?”
She nodded.
“How was it, then, you came out, and not your amiable father? You don’t—don’t do the work sometimes, do you?”