The young man cast a despairing glance toward the girl who stood like a statue in her doorway,gravely listening.The man with the bushy white hair had drawn near,hut evidently with no thought of interfering.
Willock,the voice came so eager,so impetuous,that the words were somewhat incoherent,I've GOT to talk to your daughter--hold on,don't shoot,LISTEN!--that's what I've come for,to see her and--and meet her and hear her voice.I can't help it,can I?It's been two long years since I left home,back East,and in all these two years I've never seen anything like your little girl and--and what harm can it do?I say!Have pity on a fellow,and do him the biggest favor he could enjoy on this earth when it won't cost you a penny,or a turn of your hand.Look here--hold on,don't turn away!I'm just so lonesome,so homesick,so dead KILLED by all these sand-hills and alkali beds and nothing to talk to from one year's end to the next but men and cattle....