“Yes. I was trailing Jim when I saw you,” she replied. “Thought you were Jim.”
“Trailin' Jim! What's up?”
“We quarreled. He swore he was going to the devil. Over on the border! I was mad and told him to go.... But I'm sorry now—and have been trying to catch up with him.”
“Ahuh!... So that's Jim's trail. I sure was wonderin'. Joan, it turns off a few miles back an' takes the trail for the border. I know. I've been in there.”
Joan glanced up sharply at Roberts. His scarred and grizzled face seemed grave and he avoided her gaze.
“You don't believe—Jim'll really go?” she asked, hurriedly.
“Reckon I do, Joan,” he replied, after a pause. “Jim is just fool enough. He had been gettrn' recklessler lately. An', Joan, the times ain't provocatin' a young feller to be good. Jim had a bad fight the other night. He about half killed young Bradley. But I reckon you know.”
“I've heard nothing,” she replied. “Tell me. Why did they fight?”
“Report was that Bradley talked oncomplementary about you.”
Joan experienced a sweet, warm rush of blood—another new and strange emotion. She did not like Bradley. He had been persistent and offensive.