“No, he’s a farmer. Some folks don’t like farmers.”
“I don’t blame them,” Thaine said thoughtlessly. “I haven’t much use for a farm myself. But Leigh, am I an unnecessary evil? I really turned ’Rory Rumpus’ and ’rode a raw-boned racer’ clear over here just to be ready to help you. I wish now I’d stayed home and dried the knives and forks and spoons for my mammie.”
“Oh, Thaine, you are as good as—as alfalfa hay, and I need you more today than I ever did in my life before.”
“And I want to help you more than anything. Don’t be a still cat, Leighlie. Tell me what you are up to.”
They had reached the steep hill beyond the Jacobs sheep range where the narrow road with what John Jacobs called “the scary little twist” wound down between high banks to a shadowy hollow leading out to the open trail by the willows along Big Wolf. At the break in the bank, opening a rough way down to the deep waters of Little Wolf, a 247 draught of cool air swept up refreshingly against their faces. Thaine flattened the buggy top under the shade of overhanging trees and held the horse to the spot to enjoy the delightful coolness. They had no such eerie picture to prejudice them against the place as the picture that haunted John Jacobs’ mind here.
“I’ve bought a ranch, Thaine; the quarter section that Uncle Jim entered in 1870,” Leigh said calmly.
“Alice Leigh Shirley, are you crazy?” Thaine exclaimed.
“No, I’m safe and sane. But that’s why I need your advice,” Leigh answered.
Something in the girl’s appealing voice and perfect confidence of friendship, so unlike Jo Bennington’s pouting demands and pretty coquetry, came as a revelation and a sense of loss to Thaine. For he loved Jo. He was sure of that, cock-sure.
“It’s this way,” Leigh went on, “you know how Uncle Jim lost everything in the boom except his honor. He’s helped everybody who needed help, and everybody likes him, I guess.”