“A foine horse she has,” commented Golightly, in a low tone, as the girl came nearer.
“Never seen er white bronk thet was wuth his keep,” demurred Nomad.
“Yez are lookin’ at wan now, thin,” insisted Golightly. “She do be callin’ av him ‘Silver Heels.’”
“Silver Heels!” muttered the old trapper. “Et’s er name thet stacks up fine with Dauntless Dell. Mebbyso thar’s somethin’ back er all them fine feathers, but I won’t believe et till I’m showed.”
“Howdy?” called the girl, bringing Silver Heels to a halt. “Whyever did you push into this chase and scare those two ombrays away?”
This last question was a startler. Nomad rubbed his chin and silently turned it over in his mind.
“Golightly,” the girl went on, “you ought to have known better, even if that grizzly old warrior in front of you didn’t.”
Nomad gulped hard on a swear-word. What was the girl trying to get at, anyhow?
“Waal, I reckon!” growled the old trapper. “Say, I’ve been a grizzled warrior fer three times as many y’ars as you’ve been on airth, an’ I ain’t never yit seen ther time when I wouldn’t interfere with two masked tinhorns as was er chasin’ er lady.”
The girl leaned back in her saddle, stared a minute, then gave vent to a rippling laugh.