“Aw, dry up,” Dog told him. But he was worried, and next morning he made excuse to stay at the house, and determined to have a talk with Percival. He drew up a backless kitchen chair and filled a cob pipe.
“Montana’s not such a bad country, son,” he began.
No answer.
“I’ve seen lots of places—Texas, New York, Klondike, and for just plain satisfaction, Montana beats ’em all.”
No answer.
“Take it, now, down around Bozeman and Belgrade—there’s as fine irrigated land as there is in the world. And the Gallatin Valley. Then we’ve got oil, some places, and lots of mining around Butte and Anaconda.”
The boy on the bench lifted his head.
“I want to go home, and if I had three hundred dollars, I’d go.”
It was pretty tough.
“Come on outside a minute,” Dog said finally, and Percival reluctantly rose and followed.