Later, she went out to the stable where Tolliver was riveting a broken tug. It was characteristic of the man that all his tools, harness, and machinery were worn out or fractured. He never brought a plough in out of the winter storms or mended a leak in the roof until the need was insistent. Yet he was not lazy. He merely did not know how to order affairs with any system.
“Who is that man?” June demanded.
He looked up, mildly surprised and disturbed at the imperative in the girl’s voice. “Why, didn’t I tell you, honey—Jake Houck?”
“I don’t want to know his name. I want to know who he is—all about him.”
Tolliver drove home a rivet before he answered. “Jake’s a cowman.” His voice was apologetic. “I seen you didn’t like him. He’s biggity, Jake is.”
“He’s the most hateful man I ever saw,” she burst out.
Pete lifted thin, straw-colored eyebrows in questioning, but June had no intention of telling what had taken place. She would fight her own battles.
“Well, he’s a sure enough toughfoot,” admitted the rancher.
“When did you know him?”
“We was ridin’ together, a right long time ago.”