The Sheriff's Son
chair. Tilted on the back of his head was a cowpuncher's pinched-in hat. He too had black hair and a black mustache. Like all the Rutherfords he was handsome after a fashion, though the debonair recklessness of his good looks offered a warning of temper.
"’Lo, Boots," he greeted his sister, and fastened his black eyes on her guest.
Beaudry noticed that he did not take off his hat or lift his leg from the chair.
"Mr. Street, this is my brother Hal. I don't need to tell you that he has n't been very well brought up."
Young Rutherford did not accept the hint. "My friends take me as they find me, sis. Others can go to Guinea."
Beulah flushed with annoyance. She drew one of the gauntlets from her hand and with the fingers of it flipped the hat from the head of her brother. Simultaneously her foot pushed away the chair upon which his leg rested.
He jumped up, half inclined to be angry. After a moment he thought better of it, and grinned.
"I'm not the only member of the family shy on manners, Boots," he said. "What's the matter with you? Showing off before company?"
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