“How’s Dan making out? And Cama and the kiddies?” Blanche laughed softly. “You know, I want to laugh every time I think of those dusky little creatures, with their beautiful mother, and that queer, crazy thing, their father. My, they’re just sweet!” She sighed. “But they’re half-breeds. And—and they’ll grow up like all—half-breeds. It makes me more sorry than I can say.”
Jim shook his head.
“Don’t worry for them, Blanche,” he said seriously. “Does it matter? They’re plumb happy. They’ll grow up men and women. Life’ll be to them just what life is anyway. What more can they ask? It’s we folk who’re wrong, feeling the way we do about half-breeds. They’re just as much an expression of Nature as we are, and anything else is. The world’s no better or worse for their happening. I love those queer darn kiddies. I love ’em for themselves, and I love ’em for Dan’s sake. And even Cama’s. I wasn’t thinking of them, though. Something like a miracle happened to-day. And, as usual, I want you to help me out.”
The girl laughed.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she said contentedly.
“What? I want you to help me out?” Jim asked. “That’s the way of it, isn’t it? We men are all mighty clever. But I notice most all the time we’re wanting some women to help us out. First it’s our mothers. Then it’s our sisters. Then, later, it’s some other feller’s sister. But I surely need your help right now. You know about Dan, who helped me in my bad time. You’ll remember there was another boy who did all he knew for me. Marton—George Marton.”
Blanche laid her work aside.
“Yes. I remember,” she said. “You happened on him on his farm, and——”
Jim nodded.
“Hadn’t a notion where I was,” he said. “You see, I’d been wandering these hills more than haf dead.”