Linton grinned again—again concealing the grin.
“You don’t mean to say that you believe the cuss done the best he could?”
“I think I do, Linton.”
“Shucks. Women is odd that way, ain’t they? You ain’t tellin’ me that you think he’s on the level—that his reputation ain’t as bad as some folks make believe it is, an’ that he’s square?”
“I believe he’s square, Linton!” the girl answered, firmly.
Linton was silent for an instant, during which he stood on one foot, looking westward where the sun was swimming low above the big valley.
“Ma’am,” he said lowly, breaking the silence: “I’m damned if I ain’t beginnin’ to believe it, myself. There’s some things that seem to prove it.
“First, there’s him takin’ your part over in Lamo. Then there’s him comin’ here with you, knowin’ you was alone—an’ not botherin’ you. Then he guarded you right steady, not lettin’ Haydon or Deveny run in on you. Then he makes me foreman—which seems to prove that he’s got sense. Then he goes up the valley an’ helps your brother bust up the outlaw gang, riskin’ his life a lot.
“An’ all the time he knows where your dad hid that gold. But he didn’t touch it until he got over that scratch Deveny give him—or until he could take you where it was hid an’ show you he hadn’t touched it. Yes, ma’am,” he added with a hyprocritical grin—which he did not permit the girl to see—“I’m beginnin’ to believe the cuss is on the level.”
“Oh, he is, Linton!” said Barbara, in a low, earnest voice.