“Shore the worst is yet to come.” Flo had drawled.
Carley wondered if this distressing statement had to do in some way with the rest of the trip. She stifled her curiosity. Painful knowledge of that sort would come quickly enough.
“Flo, are you girls going to sleep here in the cabin?” inquired Glenn.
“Shore. It’s cold and wet outside,” replied Flo.
“Well, Felix, the Mexican herder, told me some Navajos had been bunking here.”
“Navajos? You mean Indians?” interposed Carley, with interest.
“Shore do,” said Flo. “I knew that. But don’t mind Glenn. He’s full of tricks, Carley. He’d give us a hunch to lie out in the wet.”
Hutter burst into his hearty laugh. “Wal, I’d rather get some things any day than a bad cold.”
“Shore I’ve had both,” replied Flo, in her easy drawl, “and I’d prefer the cold. But for Carley’s sake—”
“Pray don’t consider me,” said Carley. The rather crude drift of the conversation affronted her.