On the contrary, he had shown a distinct
inclination to be friendly; a friendliness which led the two to pair off
frequently when they were riding, and to talk over past range
experiences more or less intimately. Looking back over the six weeks
just behind him, Ford could not remember a single incident--a sentence,
even--that had been unpleasant, unless he clung to his belief in Dick's
contempt, and that he had since set down to his own super-sensitiveness.
And yet--
"He's got bad eyes," he concluded. "That's what it is; I never did like
eyes the color of polished steel; nickel-plated eyes, I call 'em; all
shine and no color. Still, a man ain't to blame for his eyes."
Then Dick overtook him with Buddy trailing, red-eyed, at his heels, and
Ford forgot, in the work to be done that day, all about his
speculations. He involved himself in a fruitless argument with Buddy,
upon the subject of what a seven-year-old can stand in the way of
riding, and yielded finally before the quiver of Buddy's lips. They were
only going over on Long Ridge, anyway, and the day was fine, and Buddy
had frequently ridden as far, according to Dick.
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