The outlaw seemed to want to argue the matter with her. What he really wanted was to hear her talk, for he liked her voice, and to make her forget if possible her condition. He was wondering how he could gain her good will, and perhaps her liking. His ideas of women were singular. He did not see why this girl might not come to like him as much as he now liked her.
“I’ve seen sich,” he told himself. “Put a couple o’ strange dogs together, and they’ll fight like time; but after they git acquainted they’re li’ble to be the best of friends. And other animals the same way. Why not humans?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said, beginning to eat the roasted meat. “I’ll try to find yer friends for ye, and hand you over to ’em.”
She sprang up and came toward him, wildly excited.
“Oh, if you will—if you will!”
He smiled into her flushed face.
“That’s what I’ll do. I dunno where they aire, and them Injuns may have struck ’em and even wiped ’em out. I don’t think they did, though. So, we’ll begin to look fer ’em right off. But if you’re to try that, or try to do anything, you’ll need to do some eatin’. You can’t go on much longer if you don’t. We’re stoppin’ here to give you a chanct to rest, and the pony needs rest, too. The pony’s fillin’ up on grass, showin’ how sensible he is.”
She shook her head, when he held out some of the meat to her.
“But if you don’t, why, ’tain’t no use fer you to try to do anything. If you’re to find yer friends, you’ve got to have some stren’th, so that you can do ridin’.”
“You’ll help find my friends?”