But in the midmorning Joe Pollard came to him and grunted at the swath
Terry had driven into the heart of the lodgepole pines.
"I wanted junk for the fire," he protested; "not enough to build a house. But I got a little errand for you in town, Terry. You can give El Sangre a stretching down the road?"
"Of course."
It gave Terry a little prickling feeling of resentment to be ordered about. But he swallowed the resentment. After all, this was labor of his own choosing, though he could not but wonder a little, because Joe Pollard no longer pressed him to take back the money he had lost. And he reverted to the talk of Kate the night before. That three hundred dollars was now an anchor holding him to the service of her father. And he remembered, with a touch of dismay, that it might take a year of ordinary wages to save three hundred dollars. Or more than a year.
It was impossible to be downhearted long, however. The morning was as fresh as a rose, and the four men came out of the house with Pollard to see El Sangre dancing under the saddle. Terry received the commission for a box of shotgun cartridges and the money to pay for them.
"And the change," said Pollard liberally, "don't worry me none. Step around and make yourself to home in town. About coming back—well, when I send a man into town, I figure on him making a day of it. S'long, Terry!"
"Hey," called Slim, "is El Sangre gun-shy?"
"I suppose so."
The stallion quivered with eagerness to be off.
"Here's to try him."