"'Lo, Hazel," was the rider's greeting delivered across the doorsill.
Hazel's brush stopped swishing to and fro.
"Hello, Sally Jane," she said smilingly, supporting herself on one arm and pushing back the hair that had fallen over her hot face. "Put your horse in the corral and come on in."
"I tied him to the wagon," said Sally Jane.
Out of respect for the wet floor she jigged on her heels across to a chair and seated herself, hooking her heels in a rung. Sally Jane looked at Hazel with speculation in her eyes.
"You look mad, dear," Sally Jane said.
"I am," declared Hazel, and began to sizzle anew. "Just listen," she continued, hopping up to seat herself on the table, "to what I heard in town this morning. Nate told me—"
"——there now," she concluded. "What do you think of that for a put-up job? Why, it's not even clever."
"No," agreed Sally Jane. "Too many articles belonging to Bill. Either the quirt or the hatband, but not both. I'd like to know how they got hold of them."
"They?"