"Jeff's coming right up after he's eaten," she said, as they look their places at the table. "He's getting the food he needs at the bunkhouse. He guesses he hasn't time to get supper right."
"Ah."
The announcement gave Bud more pleasure than his monosyllable admitted. His eyes once more took in the picture Nan made as she sat behind the steaming coffee urn at the head of the table. And somehow the change she had made became less startling.
The meal was the customary ranch supper. The table was simply loaded with cold meats, and sweets, and cakes of varied description. The fare was homely but plentiful, and, to these simple-living people, it was all that was required. Bud helped himself liberally, while Nan poured out the fragrant coffee.
"We ought to be through in a week now," Nan said, passing a heavy china cup of coffee across to her father. "Jeff figures we're well up on average in spite of the stock we lost last summer. It's pretty good to think—after that time. Say, Daddy, we owe Jeff a pretty big thing."
The old man looked up with a smile.
"Guess the owin' ain't all with us," he said, with his mouth full.
Nan paused in the act of sipping her coffee. Her eyes were full of incredulity.
"I don't understand, Daddy," she said frankly. "We owe more to Jeff than ever. Much more. He came pretty near handing over his poor life so the Obar might prosper. He cleared out that gang who would have done the Obar to death. A man can't give more to—his friends."
Bud remained unconvinced. He shook his great head and his smile deepened to a twinkle of real amusement.