“What’ll I ask? I wouldn’t believe anything you told me about him. He’s not like you. He’s good.”
“You don’t have to believe me. Ask him if he ever knew any one called Pete Purdy. Ask him who Jasper Stuart was. An’ where he lived whilst you was stayin’ with yore aunt at Rawlins.”
“I ain’t afraid to,” she retorted. “I’ll do it right now.”
Houck was sprawled on a bench in front of the cabin. He grinned impudently. His manner was an exasperating challenge. Evidently he did not believe she would.
June turned and walked to the stable. The heavy brogans weighted down the lightness of her step. The shapeless clothes concealed the grace of the slim figure. But even so there was a vital energy in the way she moved.
Tolliver was mending the broken teeth of a hay-rake and making a poor job of it.
June made a direct frontal attack. “Dad, did you ever know a man named Pete Purdy?”
The rancher’s lank, unshaven jaw fell. The blow had fallen at last. In a way he had expected it. Yet his mind was too stunned to find any road of escape.
“Why, yes—yes, I—yes, honey,” he faltered.
“Who was he?”