She turned eyes of amiable scorn upon him. “Cowboys! Where are they, these cowboys you promised me?”
“They been kinda scarce down this way lately, sure enough,” he admitted. “But you mighta seen one to-day if you’d happen’ to have been lookin’ when he passed. His name is Larry Silcott.”
Tim’s shrewd eyes rested on her. He indulged in mental gossipy instincts, and it happened that he had seen Silcott come out of the orchard only a few moments before Miss Trovillion had arrived at the house, evidently also from the orchard.
Indifferently Miss Trovillion answered, her eyes again on the distant blue-black silhouette. “Is he the one that was claiming so loudly to be the best cowboy in the world?”
“Yes, ma’am. Larry’s liable to claim anything. He’s that-a-way.”
“Just what do you mean by that?”
“He’s got his nerve, Larry has.” He chuckled. “Last night, for instance, by what the boys say.”
“Yes?”
“There was a dance at the Circle O T. I reckon Larry was pretty scand’lous the way he shined up to another fellow’s girl.”
“I suppose he’s one of the kind that thinks he’s irresistible,” she said, an edge of contempt in her voice.