head. "I dunno. Nothing much. It's tolerable quiet, though. And you get
the smell of the pines the minute the trail starts climbing. Sort of a
lazy place to go, but then I've turned into a lazy man, honey. Just
sitting and thinking is about all I'm good for, or most like just the
sitting without the thinking. Why, Marianne, where'd you get them
tears?"

She choked them back.

"I wish--I wish--" she began.

"That's right," he nodded. "Keep right on wishing things. That's what I
been doing lately. And wishing things is better than doing them. The way
kids are, that's the best way to be. S'long, Marianne."

She stepped back, trying valiantly to smile, and he raised a cautioning
finger, chuckling: "Look here, now, don't you go to bothering your head
about me. Just save your worrying for this Perris gent."

He clucked to the greys and their sudden start threw him violently
against the back of the seat.

The promise of that start, however, was by no means borne out by the
pace into which they immediately fell, which was a dog-trot executed
with trailing hoofs that raised little wisps of dust at every stride.
She saw the lines slacken and hang loosely to every swing of the
buckboard. Had she not, ten years before, trembled at the sight of this
same team dashing into the road, high-headed, eyes of fire, and the
reins humming with the strength of Oliver Jordan's pull?