At the mention of the road agent’s name Rance’s eyes dropped to the floor. It required no flash of inspiration to tell him that things would never be what they had been.
“Johnson,” he muttered, his face ashen white and a sound in his throat that was something like a groan. “A week—a week in her cabin—nursed and kissed....” he finished shortly.
Nick had been helping himself to a drink; he wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.
“Oh, say, Rance, she—”
Rance took the words out of his mouth.
“Never kissed him! You bet she kissed him! It was all I could do to keep from telling the whole camp he was up there.” His eyes blazed and his hands tightened convulsively.
“But you didn’t....” Nick broke in on him quickly. “If I hadn’t been let into the game by the Girl I’d a thought you were a level Sheriff lookin’ for him. Rance, you’re my ideal of a perfect gent.”
Rance braced up in his chair.
“What did she see in that Sacramento shrimp, will you tell me?” presently he questioned, contempt showing on every line of his face.
The little barkeeper did not answer at once, but filled a glass with whisky which he handed to him.