“I need men. I thought perhaps—”
“You thought wrong.”
“I’m sorry—about Father. You wouldn’t need to see him if you didn’t want to. The Quarter Circle D E is four miles from the Diamond Bar K.”
“I don’t care if it’s forty,” he said bluntly.
Her good intentions were at an impasse. The road was blocked. But she could not find it in her heart to give up yet, to let him turn himself adrift again upon a callous world. He needed help—needed it desperately, if she were any judge. It was written on his face that he was sailing stormy seas and that his life barque was drifting toward the rocks. What help she could give she must press upon him.
“I’m asking you to be generous and forget what—what we did to you,” she pleaded, leaning down impulsively and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You saved me from that awful creature. Isn’t it your turn now to let me help you if I can?”
“You can’t help me.”
“But why not? You’re looking for work. I need men. Wouldn’t it be reasonable for us to get together on terms?” Her smile was very sweet and just a little wistful, her voice vivid as the sudden song of a meadow-lark.
Under the warmth of her kindness his churlishness melted.
“Good of you,” he said. “I’m much obliged. But it’s no use. Your father had the right of it. I’m not any good.”