“I’m not a native. I told you I couldn’t remember Spanish names.”
“It wasn’t necessary to tell me,” she countered quickly. “A man that can’t recall even the name of his boss!”
“I’m not in the witness box, Miss Lee,” he told her stiffly.
“Not yet, but you’re liable to be soon, I reckon.”
“In a cattle rustling case, I suppose you mean.”
“No, I don’t.” She went on with her indictment of his story, though his thrust had brought the color to her cheek. “When I offered you Antonio Valdez for an employer you jumped at him. If you want to know, he happens to be our herder. He doesn’t own a sheep and never will.”
“You know all about it,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
“I know you’re not who you say you are.”
“Perhaps you know who I am then.”
“I don’t know or care. It’s none of my business. But others may think it is theirs. You can’t be so reckless with the truth without folks having notions. If I were you I’d get a story that will hang together.”