“I’ll be going back now,” said Baggs. “I will keep in touch with you, Miss Singer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baggs.”
She and Len walked out on the porch and watched Baggs ride back down the road. Len leaned against a porch-post, his eyes very sombre, as he watched the dust cloud settle behind Baggs’s equipage. Nan brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and studied Len’s profile for several moments.
“You don’t like him, do you?” she asked.
“Baggs? No, I don’t reckon I do.”
“He asked me to keep you here.”
“Well, that shore was thoughtful of him,” smiled Len.
“Knock us down to the lady, will yuh?”
Len turned quickly. Just outside the door stood Whispering and Sailor, side by side, as stiff as a pair of statues; Whispering’s huge frame entirely blotting out the doorway, while little Sailor, his legs bowed a trifle, seemed less than half the size of his big companion.
“Me and the kid want to meet the lady,” said Whispering, indicating Sailor with a jerk of a huge thumb.