“This seems the chance to show that I have no real animosity myself toward the outfit.”
Since de Spain was not looking at him, McAlpin cocked two keen and curious eyes on the sphinx-like birthmark of the very amiable speaker’s face. However, the astute boss, if he wondered, made no comment. “When the stage comes in,” continued de Spain quietly, “have the two grays––Lady and Ben––hitched to my own light Studebaker. I’ll drive her over to the Gap myself.”
“The very thing,” exclaimed McAlpin, staring and struggling with his breath.
“In some way I’ve happened, both times I talked with her, to get in wrong––understand?” McAlpin, with clearing wits, nodded more than once. “No fault of mine; it just happened so. And she may not at first take kindly to the idea of going with me.”
“I see.”
“But she ought to do it. She will be tired––it’s a long, dusty ride for a well woman, let alone one that has been ill.”
“So it is, so it is!”
De Spain looked now shamelessly at his ready-witted aid. “See that her pony is lame when she gets here––can’t be ridden. But you’ll take good care of him and send him home in a few days––get it?”