Her face took on serious lines.
“Look here, Harlan,” she said, reprovingly, “you are keeping something back. You have been watching the ranchhouse at night—and during the day. You are guarding me. Why is it? Do you think I am going to run away?”
“From me?” he queried; “I was hopin’ you wouldn’t.”
She stiffened with exasperation, for she felt the insincerity in his manner—caught the humorous note in his voice.
“You are treating me as you would treat a child,” she declared; “and I won’t have it. Are you watching me because you fear there might be another—Lawson?”
“There might be.”
“Nonsense! There isn’t another man in the section would dare what Lawson dared!”
“Gentlemen—eh?” he said, tauntingly. “Well, I’ve nosed around quite considerable, an’ I don’t remember to have ever run into a place where there was fewer men than in this neck of the woods.”
“There are plenty of gentlemen. Do you think John Haydon——”
Harlan grinned faintly. “He’s been fannin’ it right along for half an hour,” he said, with seeming irrelevance.