human
Wheer's Blue,
gpt
I loaned him to a man who came here on foot.
human
From the bad lands?
gpt
No. From the river. He's Mr. Colston's range foreman and he and--and somebody else were crossing the river on Long Bill's ferry and the cable broke, and the boat came ashore above here.
human
An' the ither--did the ither come?
gpt
No. That's why he borrowed Blue--to hunt for the other.
human
An' ye rode wi' 'um? I see the mare's be'n rode.
gpt
Yes, I rode with him as far as the bad lands, and then--he sent me back.
human
Think you he will come here the night?
gpt
Yes--unless something happens.
human
An' that's what's worrin' ye--that something might happen him--oot theer? What wad ye think could happen?
gpt
Why--why--lots of things could happen,
human
Ye'll be thinkin' I'll be talkin' o'er much, he said,
gpt
The man's voice suddenly softened:
human
Come, lass, 'tis ye're own happiness I'm thinkin' of--ye've na one else. Is he some braw young blade that rode that de'el of a Blue wi'oot half tryin'? An' did he speak ye fair? An' is he gude to look on--a man to tak' the ee o' the weemin'? Is ut so? The girl stood at the window peering out into the darkness, and receiving no answer, McWhorter continued:
gpt
If that's the way of ut, tak' ye heed. I know the breed o' common cowpunchers--they're a braw lot, an' they've takin' ways--but in theer hearts they're triflin' gude-for-naughts, wi' na regard for God, mon, nor the de'el.
human
He's not a common cowpuncher! defended the girl hotly, she had turned from the window and stood facing the stern faced Scotchman with flushed cheeks. Then the words of the hand-bill seemed to burn into her brain.
gpt
He's--he's--if he were a common cowpuncher Mr. Colston would never have made him foreman,
human
Aye, lass--but, when all is said an' done, what Colston wants--what he hires an' pays for, is cowpunchin'--the work o' the head an' hands. Gin an mon does his work, Colston wadna gi' a fiddle bow for what's i' the heart o' him. But, wi' a lass an' a mon--'tis different. 'Tis then if the heart is clean, it little matters that he whirls his loop fair, or sits his leather like a plough-boy.
gpt
What's this nonsense, cried the girl, angrily,
human
I'm goin' to bed, for I must be early to the lambin' camp. I'm thinkin' the young mon will not return the night--but if he does, here's blankets. He stood for a moment looking down at the girl with as near an expression of tenderness as the stern eyes allowed:
gpt
My little lass, he murmured, as though speaking to himself,
human
I ha' made ye angry wi' my chatter--an' I am glad. The anger will pass--an' 'twill set ye thinkin'--that, an' what's here on the paper. Reaching into his pocket he drew out a hand-bill and tossed it upon the blankets.
gpt
Theer, theer wee lassie, theer, theer