There was another name that caused Park Reber to curse—the name of Jack Silver.
It seemed that Jack Silver’s name was connected with the word “rustler.” There were two of these foreman that June did not like—Nort Jackson of the Lightning and Dave McLeese of the Two Bar X.
Nort Jackson was tall, thin, swarthy, black of eye, and wore a weak black mustache. He smiled at her too much, June thought. McLeese was ruddy of skin, with cold blue eyes under huge blonde brows. His nose had been broken across the arch and a huge scar twisted his mouth into a leer. Reber told her McLeese had been kicked in the face by a shod horse.
It was several days after the shooting of Reber. Up to this time he had not mentioned Buck Priest to her. The doctor had finished dressing the wound and had given her orders for the feeding of the patient. Reber had been watching her closely for quite a while.
“Gettin’ tired of bein’ nurse to an old man?” he asked suddenly.
June smiled at him and shook her head.
“No, I’m not tired, Mr. Reber.”
“That’s good. I like you, June. You saved my life that night. Buck Priest is a good shot. He meant to kill me, yuh see. You shore thought real quick, June. You’ve got a head, girl. I’ve watched yuh around here and I’ve talked to yuh. You’ve got sense—too much sense to be playing a violin in a honkatonk.”
June smiled at him.