Polly looked after him perplexed and angry. His surrender to her whims without a fight nettled her.
"Good-by, yourself," she snapped. "He's the most forgetful man I ever loved. If I thought he was a gamblin'-man, I'd get a divorce from him before I married him. I would sure," murmured Polly, as Bud disappeared toward the corral.
Polly's musing was interrupted by the return of Buck McKee.
"Is Bud Lane over yere?" he asked.
"You must have passed him just now. He's just got in from night-herdin'."
"I thought I seed him comin' this way. When's the weddin'-bells goin' to ring?"
Polly flushed. "Next month. Then you'll lose Bud's company fer good," she answered defiantly.
"Well, I ain't been doin' him much good," Buck assented. "I'm goin' back home, though."
Polly gazed at Buck in surprise. Here was a new view of the man; one she had never considered. It was strange to hear this outlaw and bad man talk of a home. The repetition of the word "home" by Polly, led him to continue:
"Yep. Up to the Strip, where I was borned at. This yere climate's a leetle too dry to suit me. I'm goin' to get a leetle ranch and a leetle gal, an' settle down for sure."