“Perhaps,” doubtfully. “I wouldn’t trust him too far.”
“You wouldn’t? Well, I guess that’s right. Yuh see, I don’t trust anybody, Nan.”
“You’d trust me, wouldn’t you?”
He turned and looked squarely at her for a moment.
“Mebbe I’ll tell yuh about it sometime,” he replied enigmatically, and they rode slowly back toward the river.
Len’s reply worried Nan. Did he know she was an impostor, she wondered? She knew that Len had been very close to old Harmony Singer. Whispering had told her about the friendship between these two men for years, and that Harmony had looked upon Len almost as a son. She wondered what it was behind those greenish-gray eyes that caused Len to look so queerly at her at times.
If there had been any other claimants to the Box S Nan would have slipped quietly out of the country, but Whispering had told her that she was the only living relative of Harmony Singer, as far as he knew. Some one had to own the ranch.
She was afraid of Amos Baggs, but she did not know what his game was. And why did he ask her to keep Len Ayres, she wondered? Was Len in on the deal in some way? She had no one to talk with; no one to confide in. It was just a case of going ahead day by day, waiting to see what might develop, at least until the will had been probated.
Nothing more had been said about the cheque which Baggs had asked her to sign, but as they rode in at the Box S Len turned to her and said:
“Baggs is probably sore about yuh not signin’ that cheque for him, Nan; but you stick to it. After the will is probated, it’ll be all right. Stick as close to the law as yuh can—it’s the safest thing to do.”