“You’re lyin’, Ruth,” he said familiarly. “You don’t know when they’ll be back.” He grinned, maliciously. “I reckon I c’n tell you why you’re here alone, too. Hagar’s took your cayuse. Hagar’s is in the corral. You see,” he added triumphantly as he saw the start that she could not repress. “I’ve been nosin’ around a little before I come in. I wasn’t figgerin’ on runnin’ into Abe Catherson.” He laughed thickly, as though some sort of passion surged over him. “So you’re all alone here—eh?”
She grew weak at the significance of his words, and leaned against the window-sill for support. And then with the realization that she must not seem to quail before him, she stood erect again and forced her voice to steadiness.
“Yes,” she said, “I am alone. Is there any need to repeat that? And being alone, I am in charge, here, and I don’t want you here for company.”
He laughed, making no move to withdraw.
“I’m here on business.”
“You can’t have any business with me. Come when the Cathersons are here.”
“The waitin’s good,” he grinned. He walked around to the side of the table, and with one hand resting on its top, looked closely at her, suspicion in his eyes. “Say,” he said in a confidential whisper, “it looks peculiar to me. Catherson an’ Hagar both gone. Hagar’s got your cayuse, leavin’ you here alone. Has ol’ Catherson tumbled to Masten bein’ thick with Hagar?”
“I don’t know,” she said, flushing. “It is no affair of mine!”
“It ain’t—eh?” he said with a laugh, low and derisive. “You don’t care what Masten does-eh? An’ you’re goin’ to marry him, Monday. Masten’s lucky,” he went on, giving her a look that made her shudder; “he’s got two girls. An’ one of them don’t care how much he loves the other.” He laughed as though the matter were one of high comedy.
His manner, the half-veiled, vulgar significance of his words and voice, roused her to a cold fury. She took a step toward him and stood rigid, her eyes flashing.