"That's the straight bill. Ask him. He isn't fit to be spoken to."
Landor came in a few weeks later. He had had an indecisive skirmish in New Mexico with certain bucks who had incurred the displeasure of the paternal government by killing and eating their horses, to the glory of their gods and ancestors, and thereafter working off their enthusiasm by a few excursions beyond the confines of the reservation, with intent to murder and destroy. "Then he lied," said the buck, and tucked the scrap back under his head band. "They all lie. I worked for him two weeks. I worked hard. And each night when I asked him for money he would say to me that to-morrow he would pay me. When all his hay was cut he laughed in my face. He would pay me nothing." He seemed resigned enough about it.
"Yes?" she answered, and stroked the head of the fawn.
"Do you care for it so much that you would not be happy in any other?"
"Better than the—other things?" she asked, and he answered, unhesitating, "Yes."