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"Everything that cousin Josey planted with her own hands must be took up carefully and sent back even though it's killin' me to part with it," quoted Wyngate unblushingly, as he slouched along on the other side. Miss Wells's eyes glared at them, though her mouth still smiled ravishingly. "I'm sure I'm troubling you."
"I knew something was goin' to happen," said Wyngate. "I didn't feel a bit like work this morning." Here one of their number ran off to meet the advancing horseman. They watched him until they saw the latter rein up, and hand a brown envelope to their messenger, who ran breathlessly back with it to the Ledge as the horseman galloped away again.
Wells signed reluctantly, and Wyngate offered to find a Chinaman in the gulch who would take the missive. "And being a Chinaman, Brown can do any cussin' or buck talk THROUGH him!" he added. The afternoon wore on; the tall Douglas pines near the water pools wheeled their long shadows round and halfway up the slope, and the sun began to peer into the faces of the reclining men.
"Ye mustn't mind Jacksey," said Rice, sycophantically edging to her side, "he's so cut up with losin' your father that he loved like a son, he isn't himself, and don't seem to know whether to ante up or pass out. And as for yourself, Miss why What was it he was sayin' only just as the young lady came?" he added, turning abruptly to Wyngate.
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