“There! that sheep didn’t come up,” she cried. “Shore he opened his mouth.”
Then Carley saw Glenn energetically plunge his hooked pole in and out and around until he had located the submerged sheep. He lifted its head above the dip. The sheep showed no sign of life. Down on his knees dropped Glenn, to reach the sheep with strong brown hands, and to haul it up on the ground, where it flopped inert. Glenn pummeled it and pressed it, and worked on it much as Carley had seen a life-guard work over a half-drowned man. But the sheep did not respond to Glenn’s active administrations.
“No use, Glenn,” yelled Hutter, hoarsely. “That one’s a goner.”
Carley did not fail to note the state of Glenn’s hands and arms and overalls when he returned to the ditch work. Then back and forth Carley’s gaze went from one end to the other of that scene. And suddenly it was arrested and held by the huge fellow who handled the sheep so brutally. Every time he dragged one and threw it into the pit he yelled: “Ho! Ho!” Carley was impelled to look at his face, and she was amazed to meet the rawest and boldest stare from evil eyes that had ever been her misfortune to incite. She felt herself stiffen with a shock that was unfamiliar. This man was scarcely many years older than Glenn, yet he had grizzled hair, a seamed and scarred visage, coarse, thick lips, and beetling brows, from under which peered gleaming light eyes. At every turn he flashed them upon Carley’s face, her neck, the swell of her bosom. It was instinct that caused her hastily to close her riding coat. She felt as if her flesh had been burned. Like a snake he fascinated her. The intelligence in his bold gaze made the beastliness of it all the harder to endure, all the stronger to arouse.
“Come, Carley, let’s rustle out of this stinkin’ mess,” cried Flo.
Indeed, Carley needed Flo’s assistance in clambering down out of the choking smoke and horrid odor.
“Adios, pretty eyes,” called the big man from the pen.
“Well,” ejaculated Flo, when they got out, “I’ll bet I call Glenn good and hard for letting you go down there.”
“It was—my—fault,” panted Carley. “I said I’d stand it.”
“Oh, you’re game, all right. I didn’t mean the dip.... That sheep-slinger is Haze Ruff, the toughest hombre on this range. Shore, now, wouldn’t I like to take a shot at him?... I’m going to tell dad and Glenn.”