The ranger nodded. “She's all right, Dick. If you want to know, she's got a right to make a doormat of me. I lied to her. I was up against it, and I kinder had to. You ride along and join her. If you want to get right solid, tell her how many kinds of a skunk I am. Worst of it is, I ain't any too sure I'm not.”
“I'm sure for you then, Steve,” the lad called back, as he loped forward after the girl.
He was so sure, that he began to praise his friend to Arlie, to tell her of what a competent cowman he was, how none of them could make a cut or rope a wild steer like him. She presently wanted to know whether Dick could not find something more interesting to talk about.
He could not help smiling at her downright manner. “You've surely got it in for him, Arlie. I thought you liked him.”
She pulled up her horse, and looked at him. “What made you think that? Did he tell you so?”
Dick fairly shouted. “You do rub it in, girl, when you've got a down on a fellow. No, he didn't tell me. You did.”
“Me?” she protested indignantly. “I never did.”
“Oh, you didn't say so, but I don't need a church to fall on me before I can take a hint. You acted as though you liked him that day you and him came riding into camp.”
“I didn't do any such thing, Dick France. I don't like him at all,” very decidedly.
“All the boys do—all but Jed. I don't reckon he does.”