He laughed, meeting Mary's gaze and holding it.
"Talkin' of throwin' up the deal," he said. "That couldn't be. Dale an' Silverthorn an' Maison an' their gang of cutthroats couldn't make me give it up. There's only one person could make me do that. She'd only have to say that she don't think as much of me as I think she ought to. And, then——"
"She'll keep pretty silent about that, I think," interrupted Owen, grinning at the girl's crimson face.
"I wouldn't be takin' your word for it," grinned Sanderson, "it wouldn't be reliable."
"Why—" began Mary, and looked at Owen.
"Sure," he laughed, "I'll go and take a walk. There are times when three can't explain a thing as well as two."
There was a silence following Owen's departure.
Then Mary looked shyly at Sanderson, who was watching her with a smile.
"Does it need any explaining?" she began. "Can't you see that——"
"Shucks, little girl," he said gently, as he leaned toward her, "words ain't—well, words ain't so awful important, are they?"