“And what you aiming to do with it?”
“I’m going to tie up its leg and take it across the river. Some of the C. F. herders are sure to find it before night.”
“Sho! What are you fooling with Cass Fendrick’s sheep for?” he grumbled.
“It isn’t a sheep, but a lamb. And I’m not going to see it suffer, no matter who owns it.”
She was already walking toward the river. Protestingly he followed, and lent a hand at tying up the leg with the girl’s handkerchief.
“I’ll just ride across and leave it outside the fence,” she said.
“Lemme go. I know the river better.”
Sweeney did not wait for her assent, but swung to the saddle. She handed him the lamb, and he forded the stream. At no place did the water come above the fetlocks of the horse.
“I’m so glad you know the dangerous places. Be careful you don’t drown,” she mocked.
The rider’s laughter rang back to her. One of her jokes went a long way with Sweeney. The danger of the river had been the flimsiest of excuses. What he had been afraid of was that one of Fendrick’s herders might be lurking in some arroyo beyond the fence. There was little chance that he would dare hurt her, but he might shout something unpleasant.