"I'm going home now. After the fever passes keep him warm and let him sleep if he will."
"Yes, ma'am," promised Billie with suspicious meekness.
The girl looked at him sharply, as if she distrusted his humility. Was he laughing at her? Did he dare to find amusement in her?
"I haven't changed my mind about you. Folks that come to town and start killing deserve all they get. But I'd look after a yellow dog if it was sick," she said contemptuously, little devils of defiance in her eyes.
"I'm not questionin' your motives, ma'am, so long as your actions are friendly,"
"I haven't any use for any of Homer Webb's outfit. He's got no business here. If he runs into trouble he has only himself to blame."
"I'll mention to him that you said so."
Picking up the rifle, she turned and walked to the horse. There was a little devil-may-care touch to her walk, just as in her manner, that suggested a girl spoiled by over-much indulgence. She was imperious, high-spirited, full of courage and insolence, because her environment had moulded her to independence. It was impossible for the young cow puncher to help admiring the girl.
"I'll be back," she called over her shoulder.
The pony jumped to a canter at the touch of her Jaeel. She disappeared in a gallop around the bend.