"Yes, you will be," he told her bluntly. "But we may save him yet—if you can go about your business and keep your mouth shut."
"Oh, I will—I will," she promised eagerly. "I'll not say a word—not to anybody."
"See that you don't. Now, run along home. I'm going to have a quiet little talk with that young man. Maybe I can persuade him to change his mind," he said grimly.
"Please—if you could. I don't want to start any trouble."
Larrabie grinned, without taking his eyes from the man coming down the trail. It was usually some good-natured idiot, with a predisposition to gabbling, that made most of the trouble in the world.
"Well, you be a good girl and padlock your tongue. If you do, I'll fix it up with Tom," he promised.
He sauntered forward toward the path. Dixon, full of his news, was hurrying to the ranch. He was eager to tell it to the Sandersons, because he wanted to reinstate himself in their good graces. For, though neither of them knew he had fired the shot that wounded Weaver, he had observed a distinct coolness toward him for his desertion of Phyllis in her time of need. It had been all very well for him to explain that he had thought it best to hurry home to get help. The fact remained that he had run away and left her alone.
Now he was for pushing past Keller with a curt nod, but the latter stopped him with a lift of the hand.
"What's your sweat?"
"Want to see me, do you?"