“Red, you aren’t afraid,” asserted Neale, positively.
The cowboy flushed and looked insulted. “If any one but you said thet to me he’d hev to eat it.”
“I beg your pardon, old man. But I’m surprised. It doesn’t seem like you.... And then—Lord! I’ll miss you.”
“No more ‘n I’ll miss you, pard,” replied Larry.
Suddenly Neale had a happy thought. “Red, you go back to Slingerland’s and help take care of Allie. I’d feel she was safer.”
“Wal, she might be safer, but I wouldn’t be,” declared the cowboy, bluntly.
“You red-head! What do you mean?” demanded Neale.
“I mean this heah. If I stayed around another winter near Allie Lee—with her alone, fer thet trapper never set up before thet fire—I’d—why, Neale, I’d ambush you like an Injun when you come back!”
“You wouldn’t,” rejoined Neale. He wanted to laugh but had no mirth.
Larry did not mean that, but neither did he mean to be funny. “I’ll be hangin’ round heah, waitin’ fer you. It’s only a few months. Go on to your work, pard. You’ll be a big man on the road some day.”