“Nothin’ much yet—except talk. An’ there’s a heap of thet.”
“Humph! There always was talk,” declared Ellen, contemptuously. “A nasty, gossipy, catty hole, that Grass Valley!”
“Ellen, thar’s goin’ to be war—a bloody war in the ole Tonto Basin,” went on Sprague, seriously.
“War! ... Between whom?”
“The Isbels an’ their enemies. I reckon most people down thar, an’ sure all the cattlemen, air on old Gass’s side. Blaisdell, Gordon, Fredericks, Blue—they’ll all be in it.”
“Who are they goin’ to fight?” queried Ellen, sharply.
“Wal, the open talk is thet the sheepmen are forcin’ this war. But thar’s talk not so open, an’ I reckon not very healthy for any man to whisper hyarbouts.”
“Uncle John, y’u needn’t be afraid to tell me anythin’,” said Ellen. “I’d never give y’u away. Y’u’ve been a good friend to me.”
“Reckon I want to be, Ellen,” he returned, nodding his shaggy head. “It ain’t easy to be fond of you as I am an’ keep my mouth shet.... I’d like to know somethin’. Hev you any relatives away from hyar thet you could go to till this fight’s over?”
“No. All I have, so far as I know, are right heah.”