"And if I wanted to name it, I'd call it Ford." He glanced up the path to where Josephine was walking straight to the west door of the bunk-house, and laughed sourly.
"Well, she needn't take my word for it if she don't want to, I guess," he muttered.

"Nothing like heading off a critter--or a woman--in time!" Josephine did not hesitate upon the doorstep.

She opened the door and went in, and shut the door behind her before the echo of her step had died.

Ford was lying as he had lain once before, upon a bunk, with his face hidden in his folded arms.

He did not hear her--at any rate he did not know who it was, for he did not lift his head or stir.
Josephine looked at the jug upon the floor beside him, bent and lifted it very gently from the floor; tilted it to the window so that she could look into it, tilted her nose at the odor, and very, very gently put it back where she had found it.