There was no reply, though Duncan might have been warned by the dark red in her cheeks. She continued to work with the saddle, lacing the latigo strings and tightening the cinches.
“We’re riding down to the box canyon on the other side of the basin this morning,” said Duncan. “We’ve got some strays penned up there. But your dad won’t be ready for half an hour yet. You’re in something of a hurry, it seems.”
“You are going, I suppose?” questioned Sheila, pulling at the rear cinch, the pony displaying a disinclination to allow it to be buckled.
“I reckon.”
“I don’t see,” said Sheila, straightening and facing him, “why you have to go with father everywhere.”
Duncan flushed. “Your father’s aiming to learn the business,” he said. “I’m showing him, telling him what I know about it. There’s a chance that I won’t be with the Double R after the fall round-up, if a deal which I have got on goes through.”
“And I suppose you have a corner on all the knowledge of ranch life,” suggested Sheila sarcastically.
He flushed darkly, but did not answer.
After Sheila had completed the tightening of the cinches she led the pony beside the corral fence, mounted, and without looking at Duncan started to ride away.
“Wait!” he shouted, and she drew the pony to a halt and sat in the saddle, looking down at him with a contemptuous gaze as he stood in front of her.