“I see. And Mr. Briscoe will be a molder of public opinion?”
“So far as he can he will. We must forestall him.”
“Beat him to it, and give me a clean bill of moral health, eh?”
She frowned. “This is serious business, my friend.”
“I'm taking it that way,” he said smilingly.
“I shouldn't have guessed it.”
Yet for all his debonair ease the man had an air of quiet competence. His strong, bronzed face and neck, the set of his shoulders, the light poise of him in the saddle, the steady confidence of the gray eyes, all told her as much. She was aware of a curiosity about what was hidden behind that stone-wall face of his.
“You didn't finish telling me about that enemy in Texas,” she suggested suddenly.
“Oh, there ain't much to tell. He broke out from the pen, where I had put him when I was a kid. He was a desperado wanted by the authorities, so I arrested him again.”
“Sounds easy.”