“Uh-huh. But that’s a cinch in a cow-country. I’ve got a rope left.”
Mrs. Kirk turned to the doorway, as she said—
“Supper is almost ready, Jim, and I know you must be starved—you and Mr. Sarg.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Skeeter seriously. “I sure could fold up quite a parcel of food right now, thank yuh kindly.”
Skeeter and Kirk washed at the little spring, where a little fence had been built to block out the sheep.
“Does yore wife like this kind of a life?” queried Skeeter.
Kirk shook his head as he squatted on his heels at the side of the spring.
“I don’t think so, Sarg, but she is willing to do it for my sake.”
Skeeter rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a while and shook his head.
“I dunno much about women, Kirk—the right kind. You ain’t much t’ look at. She’s mighty pretty and sweet; but she’s willin’ t’ live out here, alongside of a bunch of blattin’ woollies, just cause it’s goin’ t’ help you.”