a burden. But she could not speak of her new knowledge to Leander.

She glanced towards this childlike person and saw from his stealthy manner
that he had more to impart. He walked towards the kitchen door, saw no
one, and came back to Mary.

"There ain’t a man in this Gawd-forsaken country wouldn’t lope at the
chance to die for her—but the women!" Leander’s pantomimic indication of
absolute feminine antagonism was conclusive.

"The wimmin treats her scabby—just scabby. Don’t you go to thinkin’ she
ain’t a good girl on that account"; and something like an attitude of
chivalrous protection straightened the apologetic crook in his craven
outline.

"She’s good, just good, and when a woman’s that there’s no use in sayin’
it any more fanciful. As I says to my wife, every time she give me a
chance, ’If Judy wasn’t a good girl these boys about here would just
natchrally become extinct shootin’ each other upon account of her.’ But
she don’t favor none enough to cause trouble."

"Are the women jealous of her?"

"It’s her independence that riles ’em. They take on awful about her ridin’
in pants, an’ it certainly is a heap more modest than ridin’ straddle in a
hitched up caliker skirt, same as some of them do."

"And do all the women out here ride astride?" Mary gasped.

"A good many does, when you ain’t watchin’; horses in these parts ain’t