"I ain't got nothin' against your ole—your mother, Boca, but by the way I'm feelin', she's sure due to have a bad one, right soon."
"You do not believe?" queried Boca quite seriously.
"Kind of—half. I don't aim to know everything."
"She said you would come back," and Boca smiled.
"That dream'll sure come true. I ain't forgettin'. But I ain't goin' to wait till you're gone."
Boca touched Pete's hand. "And you will bring me a present. A dress—or a ring, perhaps?"
"You kin jest bank on that! I don't aim to travel where they make 'em reg'lar, but you sure get that present—after I settle with Malvey."
"That is the way with men," pouted Boca. "They think only of the quarrel."
"You got me wrong, señorita. I don't want to kill nobody. The big idee is to keep from gittin' bumped off myself. Now you'd think a whole lot of me if I was to ride off and forgit all about what Malvey done?"
"I would go with you," said Boca softly.