"How did you know I wasn't a wolf with women?"
"Shucks," said the other; "you're bashful, and you don't run to vanity.
Any fool could see that."
"I ain't been introduced to you--regular," said Sanderson, "but you
seem to be a heap long on common sense, an' I'd be glad to know you.
What did you say your name was?"
"Barney Owen."
"What you doin' at the Double A? You ought be herd-ridin' scholars in
a district schoolhouse."
"Missed my calling," grinned the other. "I got to know too much to
teach school, but didn't know enough to let John Barleycorn alone. I'm
a drifter, sort of. Been roaming around the north country. Struck the
basin about three weeks ago. Miss Bransford was needing men--her
father--yours, too, of course--having passed out rather sudden. I was
wanting work mighty had, and Miss Bransford took me on because I was
big enough to do the work of half a dozen men."
His face grew grave. Sanderson understood. Miss Bransford had hired
Owen out of pity. Sanderson did not answer.
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