"You're the first man that's ever talked that-a way to me. I've been travelin' ever since I can remember, first one place, then another. I've always had to look out for men.... I've been able to, too, since I got big enough to be bothered. "This is the first time any man's talked like you're talkin' to me." "Bless you," he said very gently, "that's been tough luck. A girl like you are doesn't deserve that." "Don't she? Well, it ain't what you deserve that counts, it's what you get." "What's your name?" "Bobby.... Bobby Cole." "How old are you?" She shook her head. "I don't know ... just. About twenty. Alf knows; I ain't thought to ask him for quite a while." "Who's Alf?" "My father." "... And your mother?" "I never had none that I recall. She died early; that was back in Oklahoma, Alf says." "No brothers or sisters?" A shake of the head. "And since then you've been alone with your father?" She nodded. "For weeks an' months, without talkin' to another soul." "Have you always lived so far away as that? Always in such remote places that you didn't even see people?" "Huh! Usually I've seen 'em, 'most every day.... But there's a difference between seein' folks and talkin' to 'em." He was puzzled and said so. "Funny!" she repeated after him. "Maybe it's funny ... but I can't see it that-a way." "But surely you've made friends! A girl like you couldn't help make friends." "I've never had a friend in my life ... but Alf," she answered bitterly. "Then it must have been because you didn't want to make friends with people." "Didn't want to!" she echoed almost angrily. "What else does anybody want but friends ... an' things like that? Oh, I wanted to all right, but folks don't make friends with ... with trash like we are. We ain't got enough to have friends; ain't got enough even to have peace." Hilton studied her face carefully. It was a queer blending of appealing want and virulence. "They won't even let you have peace?" he asked deliberately to urge her in further revelation. "Folks that have things don't want other folks to have 'em. In this country when poor folks try to get ahead all they get is trouble." "Is that always so?" She shrugged and said, "It's always been so with us. Big cattle outfits have drove us out time after time. They're always sayin' Alf steals; they're always makin' us trouble. I hate 'em! "I could get along all right. I can fight but Alf can't. He's had so much bad luck that it's took th' heart out of him.... If it wasn't for me he couldn't get along at all. He's discouraged." "You must think a lot of your father." She shook her head as if to infer that measuring such devotion was an impossibility.