She trembled tryin' to steady herself, an' I looked off into the valley for a moment. "I know he loves me, an' I wouldn't hurt him for the world; but I think I'm old enough to know, an' I'm goin' to ask him. If he won't tell me now he has to set a date to tell me. I ain't goin' to have no dirty-faced school kids askin' me questions I can't answer."
"I reckon all you want to know is in that chest in the garret," sez I; "an' I reckon it's kept for you to read after—well some day; but if I was you, I'd put back the letter an' I'd not think about it any more'n I could help. Supposin' your Dad had had to kill a man to save your mother, an' didn't want you to know 'at he had ever killed a man—"
"Humph!" she snaps in. "Didn't Claud kill fourteen men in Gore Gulch, an' didn't I think it was fine? If he's killed a man I'd be proud of it."
"It's different in real life," sez I. "I like to read about Claud myself, but I wouldn't want to slaughter men in the quantities he does."
"You killed a man oncet yourself," sez she.
"When?" sez I.
"You killed at least one o' the Brophy gang with the butt of your gun," sez she.
"It couldn't be proved," sez I.
"It couldn't be denied," sez she. "If that's all you think it is I'm goin' to ask him."
"Supposin' your mother had made him promise not to tell you until you came of age,—you know what store he sets on keepin' his word,—would you be glad to know 'at you had made him break it? This Barbara might have been his sister, an' some one else might have been your mother."