“Say, if you’re a-goin’ to keel over like thet I pass,” declared Ruff, in disgust. “Can’t you Eastern wimmin stand nothin?”
Carley’s eyes opened and beheld this man in an attitude of supremely derisive protest.
“You look like a sick kitten,” he added. “When I get me a sweetheart or wife I want her to be a wild cat.”
His scorn and repudiation of her gave Carley intense relief. She sat up and endeavored to collect her shattered nerves. Ruff gazed down at her with great disapproval and even disappointment.
“Say, did you have some fool idee I was a-goin’ to kill you?” he queried, gruffly.
“I’m afraid—I did,” faltered Carley. Her relief was a release; it was so strange that it was gratefulness.
“Wal, I reckon I wouldn’t have hurt you. None of these flop-over Janes for me!... An’ I’ll give you a hunch, Pretty Eyes. You might have run acrost a fellar thet was no gentleman!”
Of all the amazing statements that had ever been made to Carley, this one seemed the most remarkable.
“What’d you wear thet onnatural white dress fer?” he demanded, as if he had a right to be her judge.
“Unnatural?” echoed Carley.