It was the first time he had addressed her by her first name. She affected to take no notice of it.
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” she protested. “If it hadn’t been for—”
“Forget it!” Jess interrupted magnanimously. “If you feel faint—” He stepped forward again.
“Oh, I’m all right now,” she assured him with a little laugh. “Look at Dynamite. He’s cropping the grass as if he’d never in the world thought of running away.”
Jess knew better than to attempt to press his advantage too far. He stalked forward with jingling spurs and grasped the bridle of Dynamite, who had come to a halt a score of yards away.
“I—I guess we’d better start back. It’s starting to rain,” she faltered, plainly a bit afraid of her mount, who eyed her innocently when Jess led him back.
“Don’t let him see you’re scared of him,” Jess advised, cupping his hands to help her into the saddle. “Just keep that slicker from flapping, and he wont try it again.”
The pounding of hoofs became audible down the road. Both turned, and presently a horseman rounded a turn in the road at a full gallop. He drew in as he came abreast them. It was Spider Ponsonby, a lanky member of the Footstool outfit.
“Heard the news?” he called. And then, without waiting for a reply: “Ranger Joe Fyffe was murdered last night. And the Sheriff’s got Otis Carr under arrest!”