"I'm not talking about Brill, but about Jim Yeager," he evaded. "He'd hate to have you know everything that's mean and off color he ever did."
"I believe you must have robbed the bank yourself, Jim," she laughed. "Are you a rustler, too?"
He echoed her laugh as he swung to the saddle. "I'm not giving myself away any more to-day."
Brill Healy rode up, his arm in a sling. Deep rings of dissipation or of sleeplessness were under his eyes. He looked first at Yeager and then at the young woman, with an ugly sneer. "How's your dear patient, Phyl?"
"He is better, Brill," she answered quietly, with her eyes full on him. "That is, we hope he is better. The doctor isn't quite sure yet."
"Some of us don't hope it as much as the rest of us, I reckon."
She said nothing, but he read in her look a contempt that stung like the lash of a whip.
"He'll be worse again before I'm through with him," the man cried, with a furious oath.
Phyllis measured him with her disdainful eye, and dismissed him. She stepped forward and shook hands with Yeager.
"Take care of yourself, Jim, and don't spare any expense that is necessary," she said.