taller Edith appeared in that nice blue dress with its edging-around of red. A woman's clothes belonged to a woman, and a man's to a man.
"Under suspicion and observation, most of them," Mrs. Duke said. "The State veterinary he's watchin' us sheepmen like a hawk. Mighty good thing, too. He's afraid of scabies this spring. We're dippin', finished with 'em all as fast as we sheared, holdin' these till some of the cripples picks up a little. Over there's where we dip 'em. Ever see it done?"
"Millions of 'em," Rawlins replied recklessly, not meaning to deceive by making his figures so high, but carried off by a careless exhilaration that appeared to have taken hold of him.
"Thousands, I should say, I guess," he amended under Mrs. Duke's suddenly stern eyes. "I worked in the Kansas City stockyards, you know. Feeders have to be dipped before they ship 'em out—same kind of arrangement as you've got there, a chute full of dip that swims them, a man on the platform above to duck their heads under with a forked stick as they pass. Sure. Just the same."
"Well, I'm glad there's something you know about sheep," Mrs. Duke said drily, her inflection implying that he knew nothing at all. "If you ain't got anything better to do to-morrow you can help me dip that band. I want to get the hearty ones out on the range."
"I'll be glad to do it," Rawlins agreed so readily that Mrs. Duke's momentary displeasure was dispersed out of her broad red face.
"There's not enough dip in that trough for the
