The man shut his lips in a thin line.
“No, he won't!” cried Beatrice, leaning forward. “Don't mind a thing he says! You can't expect a man to keep his temper with his hands up in the air like that. You take Rex, and I'll promise for Mr. Cameron.”
“Trix—Miss Lansell!”—sternly.
“I promise you he won't do a thing,” she went on firmly. “He—he isn't half as fierce, really, as—as he looks.”
Keith's face got red.
The man laughed a little. Evidently the situation amused him, whether the others could see the humor of it or not. “So I'm to have your cayuse, eh?”
Keith saw two big tears tipping over her lower lids, and gritted his teeth.
“Well, it ain't often I git a chance t' please a lady,” the fellow decided. “I guess Rex'll do, all right. Go over and change saddles, youngster—and don't git gay. I've got the drop, and yuh notice I'm keeping it.”
“Are you going to take his saddle?” Beatrice stood up and clenched her hands, looking very much as if she would like to pull his hair. Keith in trouble appealed to her strangely.
“Sure thing. It's a peach, from the look of it. Mine's over the hill a piece. Step along there, kid! I want t' be movin'.”