Martha was sitting on her horse close by, and her eyes were dancing.
“Don’ you go an’ bust your haid, Mr. Taylor!” she warned. “I knows somebuddy that would be powerful sorry if that would happen to you!”
“Martha!” said Marion severely. But her eyes were eloquent as they met Taylor’s twinkling ones; and she saw a deep color come into Taylor’s cheeks.
Taylor watched her until she grew dim in the distance; then he turned and faced the tall young puncher, who had stepped upon the porch and had been standing near.
The puncher grinned. “Takin’ ’em off now, boss?” he asked.
He pointed to the bandages on Taylor’s right foot. In one of the young puncher’s hands was Taylor’s right boot.
“Yes,” returned Taylor.
He sat down in the rocker he had occupied all afternoon, and the young puncher removed the bandages, revealing Taylor’s bare foot and ankle, with no bruise or swelling to mar the white skin.
Taylor drew on the sock which the puncher drew from the boot; then he pulled on the boot and stood up.
The puncher was grinning hugely, but no smile was on Taylor’s face.