"I'm not sentimental. I tell you I'm in love," he answered.
"Yes, Brill. With yourself. I've known that a long time, but not quite eighteen years," she mocked.
"With you," he made answer, and something of sullenness had by this time crept into his voice. "I've got as much right to love you as any one else, haven't I? As much right as that durned waddy, Keller?"
Fire flashed in her eyes. "If you want to know, I despise you when you talk that way."
The anger grew in him. "What way? When I say anything against the rustler, do you mean? Think I'm blind? Think I can't see how you're running after him, and making a fool of yourself about him?"
"How dare you talk that way to me?" she flamed, and gave her surprised pony a sharp stroke with the quirt.
Five minutes later the bronchos fell again to a walk, and Healy took up the conversation where it had dropped.
"No use flying out like that, Phyl. I only say what any one can see. Take a look at the facts. You meet up with him making his getaway after he's all but caught rustling. Now, what do you do?"
"I don't believe he was rustling at all."
"Course you don't believe it. That proves just what I was saying."