along them lines?" He straddled a chair, though the girl still stood, back to the fireplace suggesting anything but hospitality by her pose of calm self-sufficiency. The leader of the Teapot Spout nest of outlaws spread out his hands with a giving gesture.
"Look here, Miss Hilma, I did n't ride all the way over here from the Spout this morning just to have you play the old game of looking at me like I was some crop-eared coyote yap-yappin' for his supper. Your old game of makin' small of me 's sort of in the discard now that your pappy 's gone over, and looks to me from this side of the road like time 's come for you and Zang Whistler to have a man talk together—all cards on the table an' no sanded deck. How 'bout it?"
This new line of attack, at such variance with Zang's accustomed rough gallantries on the occasions of his past visits to the Ring home ranch, caught Hilma with no matching strategy. She stared at the confident, smiling face of the cattle rustler with no attempt to dissimulate either surprise or curiosity.
"It 's just this way, Miss Hilma," Zang ran on easily, "whether you know it or not—and I reckon not, because your pappy was
