The mere presence of a few men in uniform would have the desired
effect. The bandits, now prowling about, would slink over the invisible
border to their own territory, and never be heard of again. Of that he felt
confident.
But no! Watchful waiting was the watchword--or the catchword. And the
eternal and infernal raids went on.
It was while they were having their community meeting that he had come to
know Jasper Hardy and his young daughter Angela, who occupied the next
ranch, about a mile and a half south of his. Before that he had been too
busy to bother about neighbors. "Red" Giddings, his foreman, had spoken
once or twice about "some nice folks down the line," but he hadn't heard
much of what he said. There were always a hundred and one odd jobs to be
done around the place--something was forever needing attention; and when
Uncle Henry wasn't grumbling about something, he was forcing his nephew to
play checkers or cribbage or cards with him. And, working so hard all day,
he was glad to turn in early at night. Social life, therefore--unless you
could call high words with a crabbed invalid a form of social life--didn't
come within Gilbert's ken. It was work, work, work, and the desire to make
good every moment for him.
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