“Wal, she's walkin' 'round between heah an' Pine,” drawled Wilson.
“Jim, you let her loose?”
“Shore I did. She's been hawg-tied all the time. An' she said she'd not run off. I'd take thet girl's word even to a sheep-thief.”
“A-huh. So would I, for all of thet. But, Jim, somethin's workin' in you. Ain't you sort of rememberin' a time when you was young—an' mebbe knowed pretty kids like this one?”
“Wal, if I am it 'll shore turn out bad fer somebody.”
Anson gave him a surprised stare and suddenly lost the bantering tone.
“A-huh! So thet's how it's workin',” he replied, and flung himself down in the shade.
Young Burt made his appearance then, wiping his sallow face. His deep-set, hungry eyes, upon which his comrades set such store, roved around the camp.
“Whar's the gurl?” he queried.
“Jim let her go out fer a stroll,” replied Anson.