voice was steady, and it sounded like it came out of a reasonable man. But Uncle Boley saw that the fire of destruction still raged in his soul, for the reflection of it was glowing in his eyes.
"She stopped in here on her way home this morning, as broke up over it as a young bird that's been blowed out of its nest in a storm."
"Did she have much blame to lay on me, sir?"
"She didn't have one word of blame for you, Texas."
"But don't you reckon she must feel I'm a scoun'rel, Uncle Boley?"
"I don't recollect that she said any such a word."
"Everybody's down on me so in this country; all but you and one or two others, that I couldn't blame her. I've bungled things since I came to this place—I've stumbled around like a blind horse."
"Well, don't muss 'em up any worse from now on than you can help, son. You wasn't to blame for what's happened, only for lettin' that girl rope you in down there on the line that night, and I reckon I'd 'a' done the same thing if I'd 'a' been in your place, or most any man would."
"Yes, that was my one mistake," Texas admitted regretfully. "And I suspicioned something, all the time, too. But it's done now, sir, and regrets won't never set it straight. They come too late to do any good, just like that girl tryin' to warn me after them
