"It's a fine morning, ma'am," he ventured.

"Rather," she replied. "Why aren't you with Mr. Transley's gang?"

The question gave George an opening. "Well, you see," he said, "it's all
on account of that Pete-horse. That's him down there. I rode away this
morning and plumb forgot his blanket. So when Mr. Transley seen it he
says, 'Drazk, take the day off an' go back for your blanket,' he says.
'There's no hurry,' he says. 'Linder an' me'll manage,' he says."

"Oh!"

"So here I am." He glanced at her again. She was showing no disposition
to run away. She was about two yards from him, along the fence. Drazk
wondered how long it would take him to bridge that distance. Even as he
looked she leaned her elbows on the fence and rested one of her feet on
the lower rail. Drazk fancied he saw the muscles about her mouth pulling
her face into little, laughing curves, but she was gazing soberly into
the distance.

"He's some horse, that Pete-horse," he said, taking up the subject which
lay most ready to his tongue. "He's sure some horse."

"I have no doubt."

"Yep," Drazk continued. "Him an' me has seen some times. Whew! Things I
couldn't tell you about, at all."

"Well, aren't you going to?"