“I am certain you will not have to look long,” I assured her with excessive politeness.
“Thank you.” She glanced scornfully at me. “I suppose you mean that for a compliment? I think it impertinent, if you want to know.”
It was odd how we had almost forgotten the presence of our friend in corduroys; yet not so strange either, for he looked the picture of awkward indecision, much more the detected schoolboy than the “bad man” bandit. His fat, red hand, wandering restlessly about, included us in its orbit.
“I say, my man! Put up that gun! You make me nervous,” I barked.
“It might go off again accidentally,” suggested Miss Gray derisively. “We can’t risk Mr. Damron’s fainting. I suppose you have no restoratives with you, Mr. Corduroy?”
There came a shout from the cliff five hundred feet above. A man standing on the edge was beckoning to us.
“Somebody appears to want us to come and to share his beautiful view,” I said.
Corduroy’s indecision came to an end. “I guess we better be going back, Miss.”
“I thought I understood her to say she did not care to go back,” I said, eyeing him steadily.
Corduroy shifted uneasily. “She hadn’t any call to run away. Her father’s up there.”