Vickers grinned silent applause. And again Uncle Jepson had trouble with his pipe. Aunt Martha worked her knitting needles a little faster. Masten’s face paled, and the hand that held the cigar quickly clenched, so that smoking embers fell to the porch floor. Whatever his feelings, however, he retained his self-control.
“Of course, it is your affair, Ruth,” he said. “I beg your pardon for offering the suggestion.”
But he left them shortly afterward, lighting a fresh cigar and walking toward the bunkhouse, which was deserted, for Chavis and Pickett had gone to a distant part of the range.
Thus Masten did not see Vickers, when a little later he came out on the porch with his war-bag. He said good-bye to Aunt Martha and Uncle Jepson, and then he took Ruth’s hand and held it long.
“You’ll never go a heap wrong when you use your own judgment, girl,” he said. “I’m ridin’ over to the Diamond H to tell Randerson about his new job. Don’t make no mistake, girl. Rex Randerson is square. An’ if any trouble comes sneakin’ around you, take it to Rex; he’ll stick on the right side till hell freezes over.”
“I am Ruth Harkness, the new owner of the Flying W”