Lingle sat down morosely and removed his spurs before answering.
“I didn’t tell her.”
“What!” Bowers fairly jumped at him. “What’s the matter?”
“She might as well eat her supper, mightn’t she?” defiantly.
“Do you know what I think?” Bowers pointed a spoon at him accusingly. “I think your nerve failed you. All I got to say is—you’re a devil of an officer.”
“Maybe you’d like to tell her,” sneeringly.
“I shore ain’t afraid to!” bristling. “I don’t like to listen to a female’s snifflin’, and I say so, but when it comes to bein’ afraid of one of ’em—” Bowers banged the pan of biscuits on the table to emphasize the small esteem in which he held women. “What fer a looker is she?” he demanded.
“You’d better eat your supper before she gets here.”
“Bad as that?”
“Worse,” grimly. “I ain’t got educated words enough to describe her.”