The fellow stopped and looked at her—not, however, forgetting Keith, who was growing restive. Beatrice's cheeks were very pink, and her eyes were bright and big and earnest. He could not look into them without letting some of the sternness drop out of his own.
“I wish you'd please take Rex—I'd rather trade than not,” she coaxed. When Beatrice coaxed, mere man must yield or run. The fellow was but human, and he was not in a position to run, so he grinned and wavered.
“It's fair to say you'll get done,” he remarked, his eyes upon the odd little dimple at the corner of her mouth, as if he had never seen anything quite so fetching.
“Your horse won't cr—buck, will he?” she ventured doubtfully. This was her first horse trade, and it behooved her to be cautious, even at the point of a rifle.
“Well, no,” said the man laconically; “he won't. He's dead.”
“Oh!” Beatrice gasped and blushed. She might have known, she thought, that the fellow would not take all this trouble if his horse was in a condition to buck. Then: “My elbows hurt. I—I think I should like to sit down.”
“Sure,” said the man politely. “Make yourself comfortable. I ain't used t' dealin' with ladies. But you got t' set still, yuh know, and not try any tricks. I can put up a mighty swift gun play when I need to—and your bein' a lady wouldn't cut no ice in a case uh that kind.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice sat down upon the nearest rock, folded her hands meekly and looked from him to Keith, who seethed to claim a good deal of the man's attention. She observed that, at a long breath from Keith, his captor was instantly alert.
“Maybe your elbows ache, too,” he remarked dryly. “They'll git over it, though; I've knowed a man t' grab at the clouds upwards of an hour, an' no harm done.”
“That's encouraging, I'm sure.” Keith shifted to the other foot.