Part 9 (1/2)
”Fer how long?”
”Fer good.”
”Fer our good, you mean. There's too many of his kind comin' into this country. Did you hear about 'Ole Man' Terrill?”
Bud did not wait for her to explain, but nervously answered: ”They told us about it in Florence when we were coming through, We've been at the Lazy K.”
”Wasn't it dreadful?” rattled on Polly. ”Slim's here--the boys are goin' to turn out with him after the weddin' to see if they can ketch the feller who did the killin'.”
Bud paled as he heard the news. To conceal his distress he moved toward the door. Anywhere to get away from the girl to whom he feared he would betray himself. ”I'll join 'em,” he huskily answered.
Polly, however, could see no reason for his evident haste to leave her.
She felt hurt, but thought his actions were due to her scolding him for being with McKee.
”You ain't ever ast me how I look,” she inquired, seeking to detain him.
”You look fine,” complimented Bud perfunctorily.
”W'en a feller ain't seen a feller in a week, seems like a feller ought to brace up and start something,” replied Polly, in an injured tone.
Bud smiled in spite of his fears. Catching the girl in his arms, he kissed her, and said: ”I was a-waitin' for the chance.”
Polly disengaged herself from his embrace, and sighed contentedly.
”That's something like it. What's the use of bein' engaged to a feller if you can't have all the trimmin's that goes with it. You look as if you wasn't too happy.”
Bud pulled himself together with an effort. He realized that if he did not show more interest in the girl and the wedding he might be suspected of connection with the murder.
He trumped up an explanation of his moodiness. ”Well, what call have I to be happy? Ain't I lost my job?”
”Yes, but that's because you were hot-headed, gave your boss too much lip. But everything will come out all right. Jack says--”
”Has that low-down liar an' thief been comin' it over you, Polly? Did he tell you how he gave the place he promised me to Sage-brush?”
”That wasn't until you gave him slack, Bud. I'm sure he ain't a thief; why--”
”Thief, of course he is, an' a blacker-hearted one than the man that killed Terrill. Ain't he going to steal my brother d.i.c.k's girl this very night?”
”But d.i.c.k is dead,” expostulated Polly.
”d.i.c.k ain't dead; I know it--that is,” he stammered, ”I feel it in my bones he ain't dead. An' Jack feels it, too; that's why he's hurried up this weddin'.”
”But your own friend, Buck McKee, saw d.i.c.k just before the 'Paches killed him.”
”But not after it. An' Buck now thinks the Rurales may have come up in time to save him.”
”Seems to me if that's so he has had time enough since then to write,”
objected Polly, who was, nevertheless, impressed by Bud's vehemence.
”How do you know that he has not written?”
Polly could only gasp. These accusations were coming too fast for her to answer.