"Bostil, I'm sorry I can't take you up on the job," rejoined Slone, swiftly. "It's been hard for me to decide. You've been good to me. I'm grateful. But it's time I was tellin' you."
"Why can't you?" demanded Bostil, straightening up with a glint in his big eyes. It was the first time he had asked Slone that.
"I can't ride for you," replied Slone, briefly.
"Anythin' to do with Lucy?" queried Bostil.
"How so?" returned Slone, conscious of more heat.
"Wal, you was sweet on her an' she wouldn't have you," replied Bostil.
Slone felt the blood swell and boil in his veins. This Bostil could say as harsh and hard things as repute gave him credit for.
"Yes, I AM sweet on Lucy, an' she won't have me," said Slone, steadily. "I asked her to let me come to you an' tell you I wanted to marry her. But she wouldn't."
"Wal, it's just as good you didn't come, because I might...." Bostil broke off his speech and began again. "You don't lack nerve, Slone. What'd you have to offer Lucy?"
"Nothin' except—But that doesn't matter," replied Slone, cut to the quick by Bostil's scorn. "I'm glad you know, an' so much for that."