"I turn off here," he said.
"That so? Good night," said Farwell.
"There's something I came to tell you," McCrae pursued. "I'm not making any grand-stand play about it; but you'd better be a lot more careful when you're talking to my sister. Understand?"
"No, I don't," said Farwell. "I never said anything to Miss McCrae that her father and mother mightn't hear."
"Oh, that!" said young Sandy, and spat in disgust. "No, I guess you didn't—and you hadn't better. But you told her to do something—fairly ordered her. I heard you, and I heard her tell you she wouldn't. Perhaps you'll tell me what it was?"
"Perhaps I won't."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to, mostly," said Farwell impatiently. "Also because it's none of your business. Your sister and I understand each other. Our conversation didn't concern you—directly, anyway."
"I'll let it go at that on your say-so," Sandy returned, with surprising calmness. "I'm not crowding trouble with you, but get this clear: You know why you're hanging around the ranch, and I don't. All the same, if you are up to any monkey business, you'll settle it with me."
Farwell's temper, never reliable, rose at once.