“How aboot friends?”
“Uncle John, I have none,” she said, sadly, with bowed head.
“Wal, wal, I’m sorry. I was hopin’ you might git away.”
She lifted her face. “Shore y’u don’t think I’d run off if my dad got in a fight?” she flashed.
“I hope you will.”
“I’m a Jorth,” she said, darkly, and dropped her head again.
Sprague nodded gloomily. Evidently he was perplexed and worried, and strongly swayed by affection for her.
“Would you go away with me?” he asked. “We could pack over to the Mazatzals an’ live thar till this blows over.”
“Thank y’u, Uncle John. Y’u’re kind and good. But I’ll stay with my father. His troubles are mine.”
“Ahuh! ... Wal, I might hev reckoned so.... Ellen, how do you stand on this hyar sheep an’ cattle question?”