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"Don't look towards the ridge, boys," Applehead warned from below. "Weary, you come on down here next. Lite kin might' nigh shoot the dang triggers offen their guns 'fore they kin pull, if they go t' work 'n' start anything." So Weary, leaving Lite up there grinning sheepishly over the compliment, rode down because he was told to do so by the man in command.
There's no sense in the law, if that's the way it works." "Well, I didn't make the law," Lite observed, in a tone that made Jean look up curiously into his face. "Why don't they find out who saw him last?" she repeated. "Somebody did. Somebody must have gone there with him.
Reassured, yet believing that Madison Clay had nerved himself for the act by an over-draught of whiskey, which had affected his memory, Breckenridge said curtly, "Then wake up and 'lite' out, ef ye want me to stand by you." "Go to the corral and pick me out a hoss," said Madison slowly, yet not without a certain dignity of manner. "I've suthin' to say to Salomy Jane afore I go."
Then he turned slowly and went outside, and stood hesitating upon the porch. He did not quite know what he ought to do about it, and so he did not mean to be in too great a hurry to do anything; that was Lite's habit, and he had always found that it served him well. If the rider had been fleeing from his crime, as was likely, Lite had no mind to raise at once the hue and cry.
And Lite gave a real start and said something under his breath, and plucked at her sleeve afterwards to attract her attention. "Look quick! That fellow standing there with his arms folded. Skin me alive if it isn't Art Osgood!" "Are you sure?" Jean studied him. "Sure? Where're your eyes? Look at him! It sure ain't anybody else, Jean. Now, what do you reckon he's doing down in Mexico?"
Money could not help them, except that it could buy back the Lazy A and restock it, and make of it the home it had been three years ago. Lite, in the secret heart of him, did not want Jean to set her heart on doing that.
"Jean Douglas Avery, thanks to the law that makes a girl trade her name for a husband. You know Lite, of course dad, too." "Well, well my gorry I I should say I do! Howdy, Aleck?" He shook the hand of the old man Jean called dad, and his lips trembled uncertainly, seeking speech that would not hurt a very, very sore spot in the heart of big Aleck Douglas.
Annie-Many-Ponies was Indian to the middle of her bone. Lite Avery, turning to look back as they galloped up a long slope so gradual in its rise that it seemed almost level, counted just fourteen Indians spreading out fanwise in pursuit. He turned to Applehead with the quiet deference in his manner that had won the old man's firm friendship.
She had never once hinted that she knew; and Lite would never tell her, by look or word, that he was watching her welfare. Here came Gil, dashing up to the brow of the hill, dismounting and creeping behind a rock, that he might watch them working with the cattle in the valley below. Jean met his pictured approach with a little smile of welcome.
Then Jean on the screen turned and went riding with Lite back down the trail, with her hat tilted over one eye because of the sun, and with one foot swinging free of the stirrup in that absolute unconsciousness of pose that had first caught the attention of Robert Grant Burns and his camera man.
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