“Oh, yes yuh did, Peggy. I’m goin’ to call yuh Peggy. If yuh can love him in spite of everythin’ he’s done, by golly, he’s worth savin’ for yuh.”
“Worth saving?” Peggy got to her feet. “I don’t quite understand. How can you save him?”
“I dunno exactly,” Hashknife scratched his head, tilting his sombrero over one eye. “But there ain’t nothin’ that can’t be done.”
“But what could save him? Why, they’re hunting for him now—offering a big reward.”
The tears came into her eyes and she turned away. Hashknife patted her on the shoulder.
“Keep smilin’,” he said softly. “Remember how it was here last night? All wind and rain, wasn’t it? And today the sun is shinin’ and the sky is blue. Life’s like that, Peggy. The old sky gets pretty black and all clouded up, but the old sun is always on the job, and it breaks through eventually.”
“It is wonderful to look at things in that way, Hashknife.”
“I think so, Peggy. My old man was that way. He preached the gospel in bunk-houses and out on the range. But he didn’t wear a long face and say long prayers. He said he wasn’t trying to make folks fit to die—he was makin’ ’em fit to live. And after all, that’s the gospel. If yo’re fit to live, yuh’ll be fit to die. And when yo’re fit to live yuh’ll always see the sun behind the clouds.”
Peggy smiled at him through her tears. “I’m glad you came here,” she said simply, and went back to the house.
Hashknife sat down on the bench and rolled a fresh cigarette. Sleepy had been sitting on the bunk-house steps, but now he came up to Hashknife and sat down beside him.