The young man did not answer. He dismounted and led his pony to a small corral and then returned to the porch, carrying his saddle.
For an instant after the young man had left the porch to turn his pony into the corral Ferguson had kept his seat on the porch. But something in the young man's tone had brought him out of the chair, determined to accept no more of his hospitality. If the young man was no friend of Stafford, it followed that he could not feel well disposed to a puncher who had avowed that his purpose was to work for the Two Diamond manager.
Ferguson was on his feet, clinging to one of the slender porch posts, preparatory to stepping down to go to his pony, when the young woman came out. Her sharp exclamation halted him.
"You're not going now!" she said. "You have got to remain perfectly quiet until morning!"
The brother dropped his saddle to the porch floor, grinning mildly at Ferguson, "You don't need to be in a hurry," he said. "I was intending to run your horse into the corral. What I meant about Stafford don't apply to you." He looked up at his sister, still grinning. "I reckon he ain't got nothing to do with it?"
The young woman blushed. "I hope not," she said in a low voice.
"We're goin' to eat pretty soon," said the young man. "I reckon that rattler didn't take your appetite?"
Ferguson flushed. "It was plum rediculous, me bein' hooked by a rattler," he said. "An' I've lived among them so long."
"I reckon you let him get away?" questioned the young man evenly.
"If he's got away," returned Ferguson, his lips straightening with satisfaction, "he's a right smart snake."