“But it will. If he should ride now, why—It would be the same as murder,” she gasped. “You wouldn’t make him ride now?”
“Didn’t y’u hear him order his hawss, ma’am? He’s keen on this ride. Of course he don’t have to go unless he wants to.” The man turned his villainous smile on his cousin, and the latter interpreted it to mean that if he preferred, the point of attack might be shifted to the girl. He might go or he might stay. But if he stayed the mistress of the Lazy D would have to pay for his decision.
“No, I’ll ride,” he said at once.
Helen Messiter had missed the meaning of that Marconied message that flashed between them. She set her jaw with decision. “Well, you’ll not. It’s perfectly ridiculous. I won’t hear of such a thing.”
“Y’u seem right welcome. Hadn’t y’u better stay, Ned?” murmured the outlaw, with smiling eyes that mocked.
“Of course he had. He couldn’t ride a mile—not half a mile. The idea is utterly preposterous.”
The sheepman got to his feet unsteadily. “I’ll do famously.”
“I won’t have it. Why are you so foolish about going? He said you didn’t need to go. You can’t ride any more than a baby could chop down that pine in the yard.”
“I’m a heap stronger than y’u think.”
“Yes, you are!” she derided. “It’s nothing but obstinacy. Make him stay,” she appealed to the outlaw.