It was quite plain she did not intend to tell anything that would hurt young Cullison.
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t lost him any to speak of,” the young man drawled.
“Are you expecting to stop in the hills long—or just visiting?”
“Yes,” Curly answered, with his most innocent blank wall look.
“Yes which?”
“Why, whichever you like, Miss London. What’s worrying you? If you’ll ask me plain out I’ll know how to answer you.”
“So you know my name?”
“Anything strange about that? The Bar 99 is the London brand. I saw your calves in the corral with their flanks still sore. Naturally I assume the young lady I meet here is Miss Laura London.”
She defended her suspicions. “Folks come up here with their mysterious questions. A person would think nobody lived on Dead Cow but outlaws and such, to hear some of you valley people tell it.”
“There’s nothing mysterious about me and my questions. I’m just a lunkheaded cowpuncher out of a job. What did you think I was?”