Hollister had been silent all morning, contrary to his usual custom. His good spirits usually radiated gayety.
“What’s the matter? Ain’t you feelin’ good?” Bob asked.
“No, I ain’t.”
“Stomach?”
“Heart,” returned Dud gloomily.
Bob sat up. “Why, I never heard there was anything the matter with yore heart. If there is, you hadn’t ought to be ridin’ these crazy colts you do.”
“Nothin’ the matter with my heart. It’s yore’s I’m worryin’ about.”
Bob flushed, but said nothing.
“I’m wonderin’ how long you’re aimin’ to let that bully puss fellow Walker run over you.”
“What can I do?” Bob did not look at his companion. He kept his eyes on the ground, where he was tracing figures with a broken stick.