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"Ho can a girl" began Jean "See here, in' your pardon for--sort of stirrin' you to forget yourself a little Reckon I understand You don't --makin' you feel too much--an' talk too much Who an' what you are is none of my business But we met An' I reckon somethin' has happened--perhaps ht about clothes an' wos to wear an' think because clothes make the You're wrong Maybe it 'd be too irl like you to be happy without clothes But you can be--you axe just as nice, an'--an' fine--an', for all you know, a good deal er, y'u shore must excuse irl, with composure "That, to say the least, was not nice An' I don't want anyone thinkin' better of me than I deserve My mother died in Texas, an' I've lived out heah in this wild country--a girl alone ah men Meetin' y'u to-day makes me see what a hard lot they are--an' what it's done to me"

Jean srowing sense that he pitied her, liked her

"Are you a sheep herder?" he asked

"Shore I am now an' then My father lives back heah in a canyon He's a sheepman Lately there's been herders shot at Just noe're short an' I have to fill in But I like shepherdin' an' I love the woods, and the Rim Rock an' all the Tonto If they were all, I'd shore be happy"

"Herders shot at!" exclaihtfully "By whom? An' what for?"

"Trouble brewin' between the cattlemen down in the Basin an' the sheepmen up on the Rim Dad says there'll shore be hell to pay I tell him I hope the cattlemen chase him back to Texas"

"Then-- Are you on the ranchers' side?" queried Jean, trying to pretend casual interest

"No I'll always be on my father's side," she replied, with spirit "But I'm bound to adurass everywhere I see no sense in a sheepoin' out of his way to surround a cattlee That started the row Lord kno it'll end For most all of them heah are from Texas"