She gave Lafe her hand at parting, and he tried to draw her to him. It was a half-hearted impulse, wholly lacking his customary dash. Grace hesitated, flushed warmly; then, with a tremulous laugh, pushed him back.
"You certainly don't lose no time, do you, Lafe Johnson?"
"I don't aim to." His voice was shaky.
All that passed at the ball was perceived by Buffalo, who became greatly exercised the next day over Lafe's extraordinary behavior. Instead of establishing himself at pitch in the Fashion's back room, Johnson mooned about town, or stared absently at the dust of the street whilst he leaned against a post and whittled a stick. It was not as though he had no money, for Jim had staked him. The cowboy took counsel of friends. Buffalo Jim was disposed to hold Miss Hawes lightly.
"I ain't no prude," he explained. "You boys know that right well. You-all know me. I like a girl what's got ginger. But I don't figure on marrying a whole can of it, nor I don't calculate to see ol' Lafe get it smeared over him that way, neither."
"Well, what're you aiming to do?"
"Leave it to me. I'll fix it," said Jim.