Barrett was not satisfied. He wanted to confirm or dismiss the impression he had that shots had been fired, that Findlay and Glass had retreated, dropping their devilish scheme to have his life by fire, only upon the argument of force. But this must wait a closer understanding, a more intimate footing between them, granting the hope that grew within him that it would come.
"Why didn't you let Dan in to see me, when you never denied old Fred?" he asked.
"I was sore at him, Ed. I wanted to punish him. And I wanted to tell you, before you saw him again, how Cattle Kate fooled the poor dunce, and honied him out of being there to help you. I thought you ought to know what a weak stick he is to lean on."
"It was my fault, as much as Dan's, I guess. I might have waited for him, or hunted him up and brought him home."
"You're all alike," she declared in mock contempt, flinging his hand away. "You'll stand together in that great fraternity of manly weakness, in spite of everything."
"Dan's a good boy," Barrett said, so simply serious that she nodded in agreement.
"Good, but weak."
"Well, it wouldn't do to turn the hose on many men's feet," said he.
"All clay," she nodded, that spark of humor which lit her face like a candle at a window growing in her soft dark eyes. "But I believe some of them are baked; they stand up better than others."
Barrett had no rejoinder for her pleasantry. A while
