"Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking this matter too lightly, Mr. Drew."
"But heavens!" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess another for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pennies in his cup! I've had a short interview with Old Man Selden. Corrupt he may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a big scale. I couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate I talked with as a piker."
Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him about right," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think of him as big in many ways."
Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down comfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all."
"Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now.
"No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me for the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment you maintain that he is not a piker."
"Yes."
Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say:
"Well, you haven't explained yet."
She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras. For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss for words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his? And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in the sky?