“That’s another thing,” insisted Gowan. “He started in with Miss Chuckie brash as all hell. Now he acts towards her like I feel.”
“That’s natural. He soon found out she’s a lady.”
“No, it ain’t natural, Mr. Knowles––not in him, it ain’t. Nor it ain’t natural for him to be so all-fired polite to everybody, nor his pestering you to find work for him.”
“And it’s not natural for a tenderfoot to gentle a hawss like Rocket the way he’s done already,” rallied Knowles. “That crazy hawss follows him about like a dog.” 114
“Yes; Ashton feeds him sugar, like he does the rest of you,” rejoined the puncher. “It ain’t natural in his brand of tenderfoot––Bound to ride out, if there’s any riding to do; bound to fuss and stew around the corral; bound to help with the haying; bound to help haul the water; bound to practice with his rope every moment he ain’t doing something else. Can’t tell me there ain’t a nigger in that woodpile.”
“Now, don’t go to hunting out any more mares’ nests, Kid,” admonished Knowles. “He’s just a busted millionaire, that’s all; and he’s proving he realizes it. Guess the smash scared him. He’s afraid he can’t make good. Chuckie says he thinks I’ll turn him adrift if he doesn’t hustle enough to earn his salt.”
“Why not fire him anyway? You don’t need him, and you won’t need him,” argued the puncher.
“Well, he helps keep Chuckie entertained. With you and him both on the place, she might conclude to stay over the winter, this year.”
Gowan’s mouth straightened to a thin slit. “Better send her to Denver right off.”
“Look here, Kid,” reproved the cowman. “You’ve had your chance, and you’ve got it yet. I’ve never interfered with you, and I’m not going to with him. It’s for Chuckie to pick the winner. Like as not it’ll be some man in town, for all I know. She has the say. Whether he wears a derby or a 115 sombrero, she’s to have her own choice. I don’t care if he’s a millionaire or a busted millionaire or a bronco buster, provided he’s a man, and provided I’m sure he’ll treat her right.”