"
"A-huh! An' what's your kick?"
"Nothin'--except you could have fetched them over before the flood come down.
That's all."
The old horse-trader and his right-hand rider looked at each other for a
moment in silence. They understood each other. Then Bostil returned to the
task of pulling on wet boots and Holley went away.
Bostil opened his door and stepped outside. The eastern ramparts of the desert
were bright red with the rising sun. With the night behind him and the morning
cool and bright and beautiful, Bostil did not suffer a pang nor feel a regret.
He walked around under the cottonwoods where the mocking-birds were singing.
The shrill, screeching bray of a burro split the morning stillness, and with
that the sounds of the awakening village drowned that sullen, dreadful boom of
the river. Bostil went in to breakfast.
He encountered Lucy in the kitchen, and he did not avoid her. He could tell
from her smiling greeting that he seemed to her his old self again. Lucy wore
an apron and she had her sleeves rolled up, showing round, strong, brown arms.
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