Hetty’s horse plunged as she tightened its bridle in a fashion there was no apparent necessity for. “That,” she said chillingly, “was quite foolish of you, and it isn’t kind to remind folks of the things they had better not have done. Now, you told us the prairie wasn’t safe because of some of your friends.”
“No,” said Grant drily, “I don’t think I did. I told you there were some men around I would sooner you didn’t fall in with.”
“Then they must be your partisans. There isn’t a cattle-boy in this country who would be uncivil to a woman.”
“I wish I was quite sure. Still, there are men coming in who don’t care who is right, and only want to stand in with the men who will give them the most dollars or let them take what they can. We have none to give away.”
“Larry,” the girl said hotly, “do you mean that we would be glad to pay them?”
“No. But they will most of them quite naturally go over to you, which will make it harder for us to get rid of them. We have no use for men of that kind in this country.”
“No?” said the girl scornfully. “Well, I fancied they would have come in quite handy—there was a thing you did.”
“You heard of that?”
“Yes,” very coldly. “It was a horrible thing.”
Grant’s voice changed to a curious low tone. “Did you ever see me hurt anything when I could help it in the old days, Hetty?”