“And I expect your information is pretty recent.”
That drew another little laugh accompanied by a blush.
“Don’t you think I have told you enough for one day, Mr. Flandrau?”
“That ‘Mr.’ sounds too solemn. My friends call me ‘Curly,’” he let her know.
She remembered that he was a stranger and a rustler and she drew herself up stiffly. This pleasant young fellow was too familiar.
“If you take this trail to the scrub pines above, then keep due north for about four miles, you’ll strike the creek again. Just follow the trail along it to the horse ranch.”
With that she turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen.
Curly had not meant to be “fresh.” He was always ready for foolery with the girls, but he was not the sort to go too far. Now he blamed himself for having moved too fast. He had offended her sense of what was the proper thing.
There was nothing for it but to saddle and take the road.