"I want to know what she said," spoke up the rider, deliberately.
Lucy blushed, and it was a consciousness of confusion as well as Slone's tone that made her half-angry.
"She said when I was found out there'd be a—a great fuss at the Ford. There would be talk. Auntie said I'm now a grown-up girl.... Oh, she carried on! ... Bostil would likely shoot you. And if he didn't some of the riders would.... Oh, Lin, it was perfectly ridiculous the way Auntie talked."
"I reckon not," replied Slone. "I'm afraid I've done wrong to let you come out here.... But I never thought. I'm not used to girls. I'll—I'll deserve what I get for lettin' you came."
"It's my own business," declared Lucy, spiritedly. "And I guess they'd better let you alone."
Slone shook his head mournfully. He was getting one of those gloomy spells that Lucy hated. Nevertheless, she felt a stir of her pulses.
"Lucy, there won't be any doubt about my stand—when I meet Bostil," said Slone. Some thought had animated him.
"What do you mean?" Lucy trembled a little.
There was a sternness about Slone, a dignity that seemed new. "I'll ask him to—to let you marry me."
Lucy stared aghast. Slone appeared in dead earnest.