He saw how she took it—how her color came and went, and how her eyes drooped from his. He smiled soberly.
“Looks to me that you’ve got to pin your faith to a mighty small chance, ma’am.”
“What chance?” She looked at him in startled wonderment, for it had not occurred to her that she faced any real danger, despite the threatening attitude of Deveny, and her isolation. For the great, peaceful world, and the swimming sunlight were full of the promise of the triumph of right and virtue; and the sturdy self-reliance of youth was in her heart.
“What chance?” she repeated, watching him keenly.
“The chance that me an’ Red Linton will be able to get things into shape to look out for you.” He was gravely serious.
“It must seem a mighty slim chance to you—me comin’ here with a reputation that ain’t any too good, an’ Linton, with his red head an’ his freckles. Seems like a woman would go all wrong, pinnin’ her faith to red hair an’ freckles an’ a hell-raisin’ outlaw. But there’s been worse combinations, ma’am—if I do say it myself. An’ me an’ Red is figurin’ to come through, no matter what you think of us.”
“Red Linton?” she said. “That is the little, short, red-haired man you put in Lawson’s place, isn’t it? I have never noticed him—particularly. It seems that I have always thought him rather unimportant.”
Harlan grinned. “That’s a trick Red’s got—seemin’ unimportant. Red spends a heap of his time not sayin’ anything, an’ hangin’ around lookin’ like he’s been misplaced. But when there’s any trouble, you’ll find Red like the banty rooster that’s figurin’ to rule the roost.
“I knowed him over in Pardo, ma’am—he rode for the T Down for two or three seasons.”
“You are anticipating trouble—with Deveny?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.