"You're sure some little boss," he laughed. "I'm willing to be reasonable. If I can prove to you that I stand a good chance to pull it off down at Noche Buena, will you feel different about it?"
"Yes, if you can—but you can't," she agreed, flashing at him the provocative little smile that was one of her charms.
"Bet you a box of chocolates against a ham sandwich I can."
"You're on," she nodded airily.
"Better order that ham sandwich," he advised, mocking her lazily with his friendly eyes.
"Oh, I don't know. You're not so much, Cactus Center. I expect to be eating chocolates soon."
Her gay audacity always pleased him. He settled himself for explanations soberly, but back of his gravity lay laughter.
"You've got the wrong hunch on me. I ain't any uneducated sheepherder. Don't run away with that notion. Me, I went through the first year of the High School at Tucson. I know all about amo, amas, amat, and how to make a flying tackle. Course oncet in a while I slip up in grammar. There's heap too much grammar in the world, anyhow. It plumb chokes up a man's language."
"All right, Steve. Show me. I'm from Joplin, Missouri. When are you going to do all this proving?"
"We won't set a date. Some time before I leave."