“All right, Missy. There’s on’y four, so you don’t need to be skeered. You kin go right back home with Gordon an’ leave us to take keer of them.”
“Indeed I won’t!” she exclaimed, hotly. “I’m going, too! I am! I am!” She cut off his remonstrance. “I am! I am! I am!”
It was the first time their wills had clashed. Bull glanced at Jake, who shook his head—not that he required support or intended to waste time in fruitless argument. “You mean that?” His glance, grave with stern disapproval, came back to Lee.
It hurt her. But though her lips quivered, she answered, doggedly: “I do! I won’t go back.”
“Very well. We’ve no time to waste. Ride on while I cut this foal loose.” But as she obeyed, with one flick of the wrist he roped her above the elbows from behind. Then, in spite of angry protests that ended in tears, he cinched her little feet from stirrup to stirrup.
“Now take her home.” Handing the lead rope to Gordon, he leaped into the saddle and galloped after Jake.
Till they disappeared, Lee looked after, wavering between anger and tears. Tears won. Bowing her fair head, she wept unreservedly for fully a minute. Realizing then that she was gaining nothing but swollen eyes and a red nose, she stopped crying and turned to Gordon with a little laugh.
“Isn’t this ridiculous? Please untie me.”
But now she found herself gazing into the sullen face of a young man who, through her, had been cut out of a real fight. He shook his head.
“You won’t?”