“Wher’s he goin’?” he asked.
“Guess it’s ’bout the leddy,” replied Arizona, shortly.
“An’ he wus boosted out ’cause of her,” the other said significantly. “Kind o’ minds you of one o’ them terriers.”
“Yup. Or a cow wi’ a ca’f.”
“On’y he don’t make no fuss. Guess it’s a terrier.”
And Joe accompanied his final decision with an emphatic nod.
Meanwhile the object of their remarks had made his way to the house and stood before the blind arbiter of his fate in the latter’s little office. The rancher was sitting at his table with his face directed toward the window, and his red eyes staring at the glowing sunset. And so he remained, in spite of Tresler’s blunt announcement of himself.
“It is necessary for me to see you, Mr. Marbolt,” he said.
And he stood waiting for his answer. It came, after some moments, in a tone that offered no encouragement, but was more civil than he expected.
“Since you say so, I suppose it is.”