"Mrs. Langdon, I don't want to see neither of them again. I can't."
"That's the way you feel now. It's natural in your condition. I had notions, too. Wanted the strangest things to eat, and had such fits of crying about nothing at all. You'll be all over these moods by the time Cyril rides in. My! I'm going to scold that boy. Yes, yes, you may be angry if you want, but I'm going to give him a real piece of my mind, and then—well, it's never too late to mend a wrong, Nettie."
"Mrs. Langdon," said Nettie violently, "I tell you Cyril Stanley never done me no wrong."
"Well, that's how you look at it, Nettie, and maybe you are right. I'm the last person to judge you."
Nettie bent down suddenly and grasping Mrs. Langdon's thin hand tightly, she kissed it. Then as quickly dropping it, she got up, threw her apron over her face and ran from the room.
CHAPTER XV
In the winter the Bar Q outfit in the foothill ranch had dwindled down to eight men. These were all riders, men who "rode the fences" and kept them in repair; men who rode the range, and made the rounds of the fields, counted and kept account of the cattle remaining on the ranch, and reported sick or crippled cattle to the veterinary surgeon maintained at the ranch.
The breeding stock had been despatched to the prairie ranch in the fall, where they were especially housed and cared for. The beef stock, three-year-old steers, were also disposed at the grain ranch, where they were fed on chop and green feed and hay, to fatten them for the spring market.