When he could see across the coulee, he rose from where he had been
sitting with his back to the ledge and his feet to the meager fire,
brooding over all the unpleasant elements in his life thus far,
particularly the feminine element. He folded the saddle-blanket along
its original creases and went over to where Rambler stood dispiritedly
with his back humped to the cold, creeping wind and his tail whipping
between his legs when a sudden gust played with it. Ford shivered, and
beat his gloved hands about his body, and looked up at the sky to see
whether the sun would presently shine and send a little warmth to this
bleak land where he wandered. He blamed the girl for all of this
discomfort, and he told himself that the next time a woman appeared
within his range of vision he would ride way around her. They invariably
brought trouble; of various sorts and degrees, it is true, but trouble
always. It was perfectly safe, he decided, to bank on that. And he
wished, more than ever, that he had not improvidently given that pint of
whisky to a disconsolate-looking sheep-herder he had met the day before
on his way out from town; or that he had put two flasks in his pocket
instead of one.
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