“Boone offered no personal indignity to you?”
“Why are you so sure?” she flashed.
“The story is that he is quite the ladies’ man.”
Melissy laughed scornfully.
At his request, she went over again the story of the abduction, telling everything save the matter of the ravished kisses. This she kept to herself. She did not quite know why, except that there was something she did not like about this Bucky O’Connor. He had a trick of narrowing his eyes and 223 gloating over her, as a cat gloats over its expected kill.
However, his confidence impressed her. Cocksure he was, and before long she knew him boastful; but competence sat on him, none the less. She thought she could see why he was held to be the most deadly bloodhound on a trail that even Arizona could produce. That he was fearless she did not need to be told, any more than she needed a certificate that on occasion he could be merciless. On the other hand, he fitted very badly with the character of the young lieutenant of rangers, as Jack Flatray had sketched it for her. Her friend’s description of his hero had been enthusiastic. She decided that the young cattleman was a bad judge of men—though, of course, he had never actually met O’Connor.
“I reckon I’ll not wait for your father’s report, Miss Lee. I work independent of other men. That is how I get the wonderful results I do.”
His conceit nettled her; also, it stung her filial loyalty. “My father was the best sheriff this county ever had,” she said stiffly.
He smiled satirically. “Still, I reckon I’ll handle this my own way—unless your father’s daughter wants to go partners with me in it.”
She gave him a look intended to crush his impudence. “No, thank you.”