“Why Drazk?” Y.D. demanded. “He has nothin’ to gain, and this prank may put him in the cooler.”
“Drazk would do anything to be spectacular,” Transley explained. “He probably will boast openly about it. You know, he’s trying to make an impression on Zen.”
“Nonsense!”
“Of course it’s nonsense, but Drazk doesn’t see it that way.”
“I’d string him to the nearest cottonwood if I thought he—”
“Now don’t do him an injustice, Y.D. Drazk doesn’t realize that he is no mate for Zen. He doesn’t know of any reason why Zen shouldn’t look on him with favor; indeed, with pride. It’s ridiculous, I know, but Drazk is built that way.”
“Then I’ll change his style of architecture the first time I run into him,” said Y.D. savagely. “Zen is too young to think of such a thing, anyway.”
“She will always be too young to think of such a thing, so far as Drazk or his type is concerned,” Transley returned. “But suppose—Y.D., to be quite frank, suppose I suggested—”
“Transley, you work quick,” said Y.D. “I admit I like a quick worker. But just now we have a fire on our hands.”
By this time they had reached the camp. Transley gave his instructions in a few words, and then turned to ride down to Landson’s. They had gone only a few hundred yards when Y.D. pulled his horse to a stop.