"Think I'll go on down to the Harts'," he said, "so as to be that
much closer to the stream. Daylight is going to find me whipping
the riffles, Peter. You won't come along? You better. Plenty
of--ah--snake medicine," he hinted, chuckling so that the whole,
deep chest of him vibrated. "No? Well, you can let me have a
horse, I suppose--that cow-backed sorrel will do--he's gentle, I
know. I think I'll go out and beg an invitation from that Hart
boy--never can remember those kids by name--Gene, is it, or
Jack?"
He went out upon the porch, laid a hand upon Jack's shoulder, and
beamed down upon him with what would have passed easily for real
affection while he announced that he was going to beg supper and
a bed at the ranch, and wanted to know, as a solicitous
after-thought, if Jack's mother had company, or anything that
would make his presence a burden.
"Nobody's there--and, if there was, it wouldn't matter," Jack
assured him carelessly. "Go on down, if you want to.
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