I seen him en' his hoss. He 'ain't been to
Glaze. I'm not easy to fool on the looks of a hoss thet's
traveled the sage. Tull an' Jerry didn't ride to Glaze!...Well, I
met Blake en' Dorn, both good friends of mine, usually, as far as
their Mormon lights will let 'em go. But these fellers couldn't
fool me, an' they didn't try very hard. I asked them, straight
out like a man, why they left you like thet. I didn't forget to
mention how you nursed Blake's poor old mother when she was sick,
an' how good you was to Dorn's kids. They looked ashamed, Miss
Withersteen. An' they jest froze up--thet dark set look thet
makes them strange an' different to me. But I could tell the
difference between thet first natural twinge of conscience an'
the later look of some secret thing. An' the difference I caught
was thet they couldn't help themselves. They hadn't no say in the
matter. They looked as if their bein' unfaithful to you was bein'
faithful to a higher duty. An' there's the secret. Why it's as
plain as--as sight of my gun here."
"Plain!...My herds to wander in the sage--to be stolen! Jane
Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and her
spirit broken!...Why, Judkins, it's plain enough."
"Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an' hold
the white herd. It's on the slope now, not ten miles out--three
thousand head, an' all steers. They're wild, an' likely to
stampede at the pop of a jack-rabbit's ears.
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