Marion looked at him in amazement. She knew the reputation of that outlaw bucker.
“Do you mean to say that you rode Cowcatcher?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And were you on him when he quit?”
“Oh, yes,” innocently. “He’s not very tame, is he?” Jimmy laughed softly. “It was lots of fun.”
“Lots of fun?” Marion bit her lip and stared at this strange young man, whose language and actions did not brand him as a man of the ranges, and yet who had ridden the worst horse in the Blue Wells country, and thought it lots of fun.
And yet she had seen him thrown clean at the first pitching buck of a galloping horse. She could see that he had been freshly sunburned, and that his clothes were comparatively new.
“I don’t understand you,” she told him. Jimmy looked away, his eyes squinted seriously.
“Do you always have to understand any one?” he asked.
“You’re not a cowpuncher, Mr. Legg.”