Or I'll give ye ten thousand dollars and ye can go to Europe and make tunes if you're a mind to.

And whatever ye choose it'll be make or break with ye.

Ye can sleep on the decision, for I've no wish that ye should choose hastily and be sorry after." Buddy--grown to Bud--lifted a booted foot and laid it across his other knee and with his forefinger absently whirled the long-pointed rower on his spur.

The hardness at his lips somehow spread to his eyes, that were bent on the whirring rower.

It was the look that had come into the face of the baby down on the Staked Plains when Ezra called and called after he had been answered twice; the look that had held firm the lips of the boy who had lain very flat on his stomach in the roof of the dugout and had watched the Utes burning the cabin.
"There's no need to sleep on it," he said after a minute.