"What do you mean?" she asked.
"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California?"
She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it."
Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at
the same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted
animal.
"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never
loafed on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into
shape. He's got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He
knows what you say to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin'
about him."
The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws,
ears erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to
follow the sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one
and then the other.
"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come.
An' I do like him. I like him like hell."
Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed
it again without speaking. Finally he said:
"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight
in them.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191