I told her," he stated sweepingly, "that
you'd been on a big jamboree and had licked fourteen men hand-running.
There ain't," he confided with a twinkle, "any use at all in trying to
keep a secret from your wife; not," he qualified, "from a wife like
Kate! So she knows the whole darned thing, and she's sore as the deuce
because I didn't bring you up to the house right away when you came. She
thinks you're sufferin' from them wounds and she's going to doctor 'em.
That's the way with a woman--you never can tell what angle she's going
to look at a thing from. You're the man that packed me down out of the
Wrangel mountains on your back, and that's enough for her--dang it, Kate
thinks a lot of me! Besides, you done the heroic this afternoon. You've
got to come."
"There ain't anything heroic in sloshing a few buckets of water on a
barrel of burning rags," Ford belittled, seeking in his pockets for his
cigarette papers.
"How about rescuing a lady?" Mason twitted. "You come along. I want you
up there myself. Gosh! I want somebody I can talk to about something
besides dresses and the proper way to cure sprained ankles, and whether
the grocer sent out the right brand of canned peaches.
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