He hardened his heart to her generous appeal to him. “It’s a very comfortable point of view to have,” he said with no spring of life in his voice.
“And a true one,” she added swiftly.
“If you say so, of course.” His skeptical smile made no concessions.
He turned to leave, but stopped to look at a cloud of white dust moving down the road toward them.
CHAPTER VII
TUG SAYS, “NO, THANK YOU”
The advancing dust cloud rose from a little group of horses and men. Some of the latter were riding. Others were afoot.
“Lon’s caught them,” said Betty. “I’m sorry.”
“Not so sorry as they’ll be,” returned the ragged youth grimly.
The foreman swung heavily from his horse. Though he was all muscle and bone, he did not carry his two hundred pounds gracefully.
“We got the birds all right, Miss Betty, even if they were hittin’ the trail right lively,” he called to the girl, an ominous grin on his leathery face. “I guess they’d figured out this wasn’t no healthy climate for them.” He added, with a swift reversion to business, “Where’s yore paw?”