"Does Jeff know?" Nan's question was almost a whisper.
"I ain't told him."
Bud's reply was one of doubt.
"He--he ought to be told."
Then Bud suddenly abandoned the restraint he had been exercising.
"Oh ----! Ther' ain't no use. He can't do a thing. He wouldn't do a
thing. I tell you we're jest suckin'-kids in this racket. We got to
lie around crazy enough to fancy we're goin' to git the drop on these
bums. What a country! What a cuss of a lay-out wher' you got to set
around watching a darnation gang o' toughs whittlin' away your work
till they got you beat to a mush. Here, I'm goin' to start right in.
I'm goin' to get around Calthorpe. The sheriff's got to git busy, an'
earn his monthly pay check. We'll hev to raise vigilantes. I tell you
they'll break us else. Ef Jeff can't see, why, he'll hev to be made
to. Blast their louse-bound souls to hell!"
And Nan welcomed the outburst. Rough, coarse, violent. It did not
matter. What mattered to her was the purpose. The purpose which she
hoped and prayed would help Jeff.
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