ght. Woman's
jest a sort of angel come right down from Heaven on a snowflake. She
sure is. Ther' ain't no reason to her. Set her around a sick bed with
physic she ken hand on to the feller lyin' there, an' ther' ain't no
limit to wot she can do. It's a passion. You can't blame her. She's
fixed that way. She'll just nurse that feller in a way that makes him
feel he wants to start right in trundlin' a wooden hoop, or blowin' a
painted trumpet, hanging on to her hand, same as he did before he quit
actin' foolish on his mother's lap. It kind o' seems to me a mortal
wonder women don't set their men-folk actin' queer settin' aside a
railroad track guessin' they're advertisements fer a new hair-wash, or
some other fancy dope. I guess women is the greatest proposition ever
step out o' the Garden of Eden--someways."

Nan laughed happily.

"That's spoiled it, Daddy," she cried. "Why not leave it at the Garden
of Eden?"

Bud laughingly shook his head.

"Why for should I?" he retorted. "If they're angels they ain't all
halo an' wings. Anyway, she did step out o' the Garden. An' though
the committee ast her to vacate, I allow it was a mighty good thing fer
the human race, or we'd all be eatin' grass still, or some other
perfectly ridiculous cattle feed. No siree! She ain't all halo an'
wings, or us men 'ud be settin' around all the time shoutin' hymns
doleful instead of enjoyin' ourselves lyin' awake at nights figgerin'
to beat the other feller's play. Woman's jest woman, an' the
diff'rences in her is just what a mighty tough world makes of her.
Maybe she's foolish. Maybe she ain't. Anyway, she's got most things
agin her to make her that way, an' it seems to me a yeller dawg don't
have much the worst of the game. No. I guess woman's jest woman, an'
us men needs to git right on our knees and thank Providence that is so."

Bud reattacked his supper. There had been impatience as well as
amiability in his denial. For all his regard for his partner he could
not allow Nan her absurd self-effacement without protest. None knew
better than he the extent of his debt to Jeff for ridding the Obar of
the rustlers. But Jeff, he also knew, owed his life to the devotion,
the skill, the love of this girl upon whom he had no claim.

He remained silent now, lost in thoughts he dared not impart to Nan,
and the girl herself had nothing to say. She, too, was thinking. But
there was no impatience in her thoughts.

She w