“It's a pity you didn't get it sooner, then! Can't you see what you've done? Why, think a minute! A VP calf running with a Wishbone cow--why, it's--you couldn't advertise Man as a rustler any better if you tried. The first fellow that runs onto that cow and calf--well, he won't need to do any guessing--he'll _know_. It's a ticket to Deer Lodge--that VP calf. Now do you see?” He turned away to the window and stood looking absently at the brown hillside, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
“And there's Fred De Garmo, with his new job, ranging around the country just aching to cinch somebody and show his authority. It's a matter of days almost. He'd like nothing better than to get a whack at Man, even if the Wishbone--”
Outside, they could hear Polycarp throwing the wood off the wagon; knowing him as they did, they knew, it would not be long before he found an excuse for coming into the house. He had more than once evinced a good deal of interest in Kent's visits there, and shown an unmistakable desire to know what they were talking about. They had never paid much attention to him; but now even Val felt a vague uneasiness lest he overhear. She had been sitting, her face buried in her arms, crushed beneath the knowledge of what she had done.
“Don't worry, little woman.” Kent went over and passed his hand lightly over her hair. “You did what looked to you to be the right thing--the honest thing. And the chances are he'd get caught before long, anyhow. I don't reckon this is the first time he's done it.”
“Oh-h--but to think--to think that _I_ should do it--when I wanted to save him! He--Kent, I despise him--he has killed all the love I ever felt for him--killed it over and over--but if anybody finds that calf, and--and if they--Kent, I shall go crazy if I have to feel that _I_ sent him--to--prison. To think of him--shut up there--and to know that I did it--I can't bear it!” She caught his arm. She pressed her forehead against it. “Kent, isn't there some way to get it back? If I should find it--and--and shoot it--and pay the Wishbone what it's worth--oh, _any_ amount--or shoot the cow--or--” she raised her face imploringly to his--“tell me, pal--or I shall go stark, raving mad!”