“If it’s anythin’ I can help about—” he began, awkwardly, yet ingratiatingly.
“Thank you very much, Slim, but it isn’t,” the girl answered quietly.
“We ain’t got much time,” protested McCabe uneasily. “We jest came back to get them tools Buck forgot. Tex is in a hurry to finish up the job.”
“I don’t believe five minutes’ delay will matter very much,” returned Miss Thorne, with a touch of that unexpected decision Stratton had noticed once or twice before. “I sha’n’t be any longer.”
She moved away from the corral and Buck, walking 111 beside her, was conscious of a curious tension in the air. For a moment he thought McCabe meant to persist and force his presence on them. But evidently the stocky cow-puncher found the situation too difficult for him to cope with, for he remained standing beside his horse, though his glance followed them intently, and throughout the brief interview his eyes searched their faces, as if he strove to read from their expression or the movement of their lips some inkling of what it was all about.
“I won’t keep you but a moment,” the girl began, her color slightly heightened. “I only thought that perhaps I might persuade you to—to change your mind, and—and stay. If the work’s too hard, we might be able to—”
She paused. Buck stared at her in astonishment. “I don’t understand,” he said briefly.
Her flush deepened. “I meant about your going. I understood you weren’t satisfied, and wanted to—to leave.”
“Who told you that?”
“Why—Tex. Isn’t it—”