Now Gordon’s merry laugh rang out. “Is this leap year, or does this sort of thing go all the time down here? Her proposal calls for a priest, I suppose, and a marriage license?”
“Nary.” Sliver grinned again. “Ladies of her class get along very nicely without them artificial aids to marriage. All she wants is for you to settle down here with her to housekeeping.”
“Why—but—” He still half believed that Sliver was joking; but, looking at the girl, he saw for himself the smoldering flame in her dusky eyes. This time his laugh was a little confused. “Please tell her that I’m dreadfully sorry, that I appreciate the high compliment, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I don’t expect to stay long in this country I would give her nice offer my most distinguished consideration.”
Any further doubts that he might have entertained would have been effectually dispersed by her dark disappointment when Sliver translated. A touch of pity mingled with his amusement; moved him to add, “I hope that you put it nicely.”
“Sure,” Sliver breezily answered. “I told her that you said for her to go to hell.”
“Oh, well”—Gordon recovered his breath again—“at least that puts the whole business beyond further doubt.”
“Don’t you believe it.” Sliver gave a third and last grin. “She says that you-all kin always find her here if you happen to change your mind.”
“Now that’s very nice.” Really pleased under his amusement, Gordon brought the little comedy to a graceful end. Unsnapping the leather watch-fob that bore his initials worked in gold, he laid it in the girl’s hand. “A fellow doesn’t get a proposal of marriage every day. Tell her for a little remembrance.”
“And now for another drink.”
But as Sliver reached for the bottle Gordon seized his arm, and any doubts as to his sobriety were removed then and there from the cowman’s mind. “You’ve had two already, and I’m not going to stand by and see you burn your stomach out. Come on, gol darn you! or I’ll hand you one.”