He glanced from ribbon to note, ended his indecision
by stuffing the note carelessly into his coat pocket and letting the
ribbon drop to the ground, and with a curl of the lips which betrayed
his mental attitude toward all women and particularly toward that woman,
picked up his saddle.
"I can't seem to recollect asking that lady for help, anyway," he summed
up before he dismissed the subject from his mind altogether. "I was
trying to help her; it sure takes a woman to twist things around so they
point backwards!"
He turned and glanced pityingly at Rambler, watching him with ears
perked forward inquiringly. "And I crippled a damned good horse trying
to help a blamed poor specimen of a woman!" he gritted. "And didn't get
so much as a pleasant word for it. I'll sure remember that!"
Rambler whinnied after him wistfully, and Ford set his teeth hard
together and walked the faster, his shoulders slightly bent under the
weight of the saddle. His own physical discomfort was nothing, beside
the hurt of leaving his horse out there practically helpless; for a
moment his fingers rested upon the butt of his six-shooter, while he
considered going back and putting an end to life and misery for
Rambler.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91