“But, June, that don’t listen reasonable to me. He’s got you buffaloed. If you make up yore mind not to have him—”
“I didn’t say I’d made up my mind not to have him. I said I hated him,” she corrected.
“Well, you wouldn’t marry a fellow you hated,” he argued.
“How do you know so much about it, Bob Dillon?” she flared.
“I use what brains I’ve got. Women don’t do things like that. There wouldn’t be any sense in it.”
“Well, I’ll prob’ly do it. Then you’ll know I haven’t got a lick o’ sense,” she retorted sullenly.
“You ce’tainly beat my time,” he said, puzzled. “I’ve heard you say more mean things about him than everybody else put together, an’ now you’re talkin’ about marryin’ him. Why? What’s yore reason?”
She looked up. For a moment the morose eyes met his. They told nothing except a dogged intention not to tell anything.
But the boy was no fool. He had thought a good deal about the lonely life she and her father led. Many men came into this country three jumps ahead of the law. It was not good form to ask where any one came from unless he volunteered information about antecedent conditions. Was it possible that Jake Houck had something on Tolliver, that he was using his knowledge to force June into a marriage with him? Otherwise there would be no necessity for her to marry him. As he had told her, it was a free land. But if Houck was coercing her because of her fears for Tolliver, it was possible this might be a factor in determining June to marry him.
“Don’t you do it, June. Don’t you marry him. He didn’t look good to me, Houck didn’t,” Dillon went on. He was a little excited, and his voice had lifted.