"Me?" said Windy with vast surprise, "me mournful? Why, I sing at my work like a little dicky bird. I'm so plumb cheerful bull frogs ain't in it. You ain't talking to me!"
But I wanted one more point of information before the conversation veered.
"Does his daughter ever ride out?" I asked.
"Daughter?" they echoed in surprise.
"Or niece, or whoever she is," I supplemented impatiently.
"There's no woman there; not even a Mex," said one, and "Did you see any sign of any woman?" keenly from Windy Bill.
But I was not minded to be drawn.
"Somebody told me about a daughter, or niece, or something," I said, vaguely.