The older man mumbled what might be taken for an assent.
“Branded a heap of cattle, you ’n’ me. Eh, Pete?” The stranger settled deeper in the chair. “Jake Houck an’ you could talk over old times all night. We was frolicsome colts.”
Tolliver felt his hand forced. “Put off yore hat and wash up, Jake. You’ll stay to-night, o’ course.”
“Don’t mind if I do. I’m headed for Glenwood. Reckon I’d better put the horse up first.”
The two men left the cabin. When they returned half an hour later, the supper was on the table. June sat on the side nearest the stove and supplied the needs of the men. Coffee, hot biscuits, more venison, a second dish of gravy: no trained waiter could have anticipated their wants any better. If she was a bit sulky, she had reason for it. Houck’s gaze followed her like a searchlight. It noted the dark good looks of her tousled head, the slimness of the figure which moved so awkwardly, a certain flash of spirit in the undisciplined young face.
“How old’s yore girl?” the man asked his host.
Tolliver hesitated, trying to remember. “How old are you, June?”
“Going on sixteen,” she answered, eyes smouldering angrily.
This man’s cool, impudent appraisal of her was hateful, she felt.
He laughed at her manner, easily, insolently, for he was of the type that finds pleasure in the umbrage of women annoyed by his effrontery. Of the three the guest was the only one quite at his ease. Tolliver’s ingratiating jokes and the heartiness of his voice rang false. He was troubled, uncertain how to face the situation that had arisen.