"
Sorry, his fingers thrust into his overalls pockets, his thumbs hooked
over the waistband, spat into the sand beside the path. "Well, he
started off with a cracked doubletree," he said slowly. "He mighta
busted 'er pullin' through that sand hollow. She was wired up pretty
good, though, and there was more wire in the rig. I don't know of
anything else that'd be liable to happen, unless----"
"Unless what?" Lorraine prompted sharply. "There's too much that isn't
talked about, on this ranch. What else could happen?"
Sorry edged away from her. "Well--I dunno as anything would be liable to
happen," he said uncomfortably. "'Taint likely him 'n' Brit 'd both have
accidents--not right hand-runnin'."
"_Accidents_?" Lorraine felt her throat squeeze together. "Sorry, you
don't mean--Sawtooth accidents?" she blurted.
She surprised a grunt out of Sorry, who looked over his shoulder as if
he feared eavesdroppers. "Where'd you git that idee?" he demanded. "I
dunno what you mean. Ain't that yore dad callin' yuh?"
Lorraine ignored the hint. "You _do_ know what I mean. Why did you say
they wouldn't both be likely to have accidents hand-running? And why
don't you _do_ something? Why does every one just keep still and let
things happen, and not say a word? If there's any chance of Frank having
an--an _accident_, I should think you'd be out looking after him, and
not standing there with your hands in your pockets just waiting to see
if he shows up or if he doesn't show up.
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