“Maybe you do.”
“Tell me.”
He shook his head. “Wait till I’ve got him cinched.”
“You told father,” she accused.
He laughed in a hard, mirthless fashion. “That cured me. The Lee family is from Missouri. When I talk next time I’ll have the goods to show.”
“I know who you mean. You’re making a mistake.” Her voice seemed to plead with him.
“Not on your life, I ain’t. But we’ll talk about that when the subject is riper. There will be a showdown some day, and don’t you forget it. Well, Charley is calling me. So long, Miss Three-Quarters-Past-Seventeen.” He went jingling down the steps and swung to the saddle. “I’ll not forget the ad, and when I find the right man I’ll ce’tainly rope and bring him to you.”
“The rustler?” she asked innocently.
“No, not the rustler, the gent between eighteen and forty-eight, object matrimony.”
“I don’t want to trouble you,” she flung at him with her gay smile.