She
relapsed into silence, to which he seemed willing to consent.
Once and again her glance swept him. He looked a tough,
weather-beaten Westerner, certainly not a man whom a woman need
be afraid to meet alone on the plains, but the oftener she looked
the more certain she became that he was not a casual puncher busy
at the legitimate work of his craft.
"Do you--live near here?" she asked presently.
"I live under my hat, ma'am," he told her.
"Sometimes near here, sometimes not so near."
This told her exactly nothing.
"How far did you say it was to the Rocking Chair?"
"I didn't say."
At the sound of a horses footfall she turned, and she saw that
whereas they had been two, now they were three. The newcomer was
a slender, graceful man, dark and lithe, with quick, piercing
eyes, set deep in the most reckless, sardonic face she had ever
seen.
The man bowed, with a sweep of his hat almost derisive. "Miss
Mackenzie, I believe."
She met him with level eyes that confessed no fear.
"Who are you, sir?"
"They call me Wolf Leroy."
Her heart sank. "You and he are the men that held up the
Limited.
Pages:
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295