He shook his head. “Don’t know. That’s the mischief of it. If they should meet just after Curly finishes riding the boy won’t have a chance. His nerves won’t be steady enough.”
“Dad is doing something. I don’t know what it is. He had a meeting with a lot of cattlemen about it—— I don’t see how that boy can sit there on the fence laughing when any minute——”
“Curly’s game as they make ’em. He’s a prince, too. I like that boy better every day.”
“He doesn’t seem to me so——wild. But they say he’s awfully reckless.” She said it with a visible reluctance, as if she wanted him to deny the charge.
“Sho! Curly needs explaining some. That’s all. Give a dog a bad name and hang him. That saying is as straight as the trail of a thirsty cow. The kid got off wrong foot first, and before he’d hardly took to shaving respectable folks were hunting the dictionary to find bad names to throw at him. He was a reprobate and no account. Citizens that differed on everything else was unanimous about that. Mothers kinder herded their young folks in a corral when he slung his smile their way.”
“But why?” she persisted. “What had he done?”
“Gambled his wages, and drank some, and, beat up Pete Schiff, and shot the lights out of the Legal Tender saloon. That’s about all at first.”
“Wasn’t it enough?”
“Most folks thought so. So when Curly bumped into them keep-off-the-grass signs parents put up for him he had to prove they were justified. That’s the way a kid acts. Half the bad men are only coltish cowpunchers gone wrong through rotten whiskey and luck breaking bad for them.”
“Is Soapy that kind?” she asked, but not because she did not know the answer.