“A judge’ll fix you up with papers settin’ you free, June,” he told her. “I’ll do anything to help that you want.”
“Well, when you come back,” she postponed. Talk on that subject distressed and humiliated her.
“I got to go,” he said. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
She gave him her hand shyly. Their eyes met and fell away.
He stood a moment, trying to find an effective line of exit. He had missed his cue to leave, as thousands of lovers have before and since.
“Got to hit the trail,” he murmured in anticlimax.
“Yes,” she agreed.
Bob drew back one foot and ducked his head in a bow. A moment later he was hurrying toward the remuda.