“Ain’t it, now?” said the other sweetly. “I never ’lowed it was, did I?”
Brady scowled. “Where ye headin’ for?” he demanded bluntly.
“Did I say? Guess I forgot to mention it.” Robinson’s slow grin was irritating in the extreme. Ratty little Knute edged his cayuse a trifle to one side.
“Better remember it pronto.” Brady’s tone was significant. His eyes were stormy.
“Well,” said Robinson gayly, “I done voted twice already, I ain’t roped to any brand, and, far’s I can see, my skin’s white. This here ain’t no private road, is it?”
Brady stared at him murderously. Knute edged a trifle farther to the side. Robinson appeared quite unruffled and innocent of offense.
“Stranger, are you jest plain fool, or ignerant?” demanded Brady.
“Both,” Robinson said with a grin. “By the way, I s’pose you ain’t related to Pincher Brady? He was havin’ considerable excitement in town when I come through.”
The big foreman settled into a deadly calm. “Yes? How come?”
“Bein’ a stranger and peaceable, I didn’t stop to ask,” returned Robinson idly. “Seems like some feller named Buck sent him to get a gent. He got the wrong gent, and him and Buck were shootin’ it out.”