“Air you the little feller whut fit fer June?”
“Not yet,” said Bob; “but it's coming.”
“Well, you'll whoop him.”
“I'll do my best.”
“Whar is she?”
“She's waiting for you over at the boarding-house.”
“Does she know about this trouble?”
“Not a thing; she thinks you've come to take her home.” The old man made no answer, and Bob led him back toward Hale's office. June was waiting at the gate, and the boy, lifting his cap, passed on. June's eyes were dark with anxiety.
“You come to take me home, dad?”
“I been thinkin' 'bout it,” he said, with a doubtful shake of his head.