“No, I think not. Why? Do you know the man?”
Jess grunted. “Now, Miss Mariel, you’re asking me to tell you something I shouldn’t.”
Mariel lifted her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Bledsoe. I have no desire to pry into any of your secrets.... Look at those black clouds. Don’t you think we’d better turn back to the far—ranch, I mean?”
Jess was worried, and showed it.
“You wouldn’t want me to turn talebearer, would you, Miss Mariel?” he asked her.
“Not at all,” Mariel replied coolly, reining in her horse. “Don’t you think it’s going to rain?”
Jess laid a gloved hand on her bridle.
“Now, Miss Mariel, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he pleaded. “Can’t you see the position you put me in?”
Mariel turned her back on him—perhaps that he might not see the smile playing about her lips.
“But you admit there was such a conspiracy?”