“Nope. I don’t think nothin’ at all of throwin’ a steer.”
“Oh! And aren’t you afraid of—of their nasty horns?”
She stammered with admiration and wonder.
“I was brung up to take chances. Throwin’ a steer ain’t much—for a man like me. You see, I got the size for it. A feller needs weight on the range.”
“But some of these cow-punchers seem quite slender.”
“Yep. But they don’t count much for a real man’s work. Take Carrigan, over there. I guess he’s a pretty fair sort when it comes to gettin’ around, but he ain’t got the weight. I guess he weighs about twenty pounds less’n I do.”
“Do you know that I feel—but you would think me foolish if I said it!”
“Lady—Miss—Miss Silvestre, you c’n lay ten to one I won’t think anything you say is foolish!”
“Well, then, I feel as if you are the only real man I have ever known.”
“Honest?” said the deep, quivering voice.