Without a word Joe led his horse into the barn, and, off-saddling him, fixed him up for the night. Tresler did the same for his mare. Then they came out together. At the door Joe paused.
“Say,” he remarked simply, “I jest didn’t know you wus that smart.”
“Don’t credit me with smartness. It’s—poor little girl.”
“Ah!” Joe’s face twisted into his apish grin. “Say, you’ll stick to what you said?”
“Every word of it.”
“Good; the rest’s doin’ itself, sure.”
And they went their several ways; Joe to the kitchen of the house, and Tresler to his dusty mattress in the bunkhouse.