Tex looked incredulous. "How did you guess?" he asked.
Rose reviewed the incidents from which she had drawn her conclusion. Tex was impressed. "That's not guessing. That's pure reason," he declared.
"You will tell M'sieu Peters about the itch?" she inquired eagerly.
"Why don't you tell him? I can't risk going out to the ranch."
"No! No! Dave must not suspect. You tell him quick so Dave not think it is me."
"Why, Dave is in a hole. Harris will squeal the minute I put my fingers on him."
"He will suspect. He must not—Oh! you do not understand."
Tex indented his hat on the left side; that was Dave: then on the right side; that was Buck: then, with careful precision, in the middle of the crown; that was Rose. He studied the result with thoughtful attention. "Like Dave?" he inquired, casually.
"I—" she began with passionate intensity but paused. "No," she answered, more calmly.
"No," repeated Tex. He smoothed out the left-hand depression with an air of satisfaction. "That 's good," he continued, "because I shall have to put a crimp, a very serious crimp, in his anatomy one of these days. I can feel it coming. What do you think of Buck?"