TEXAS worked his way round to where Sallie McCoy waited on her horse just inside the corral gate. The bow-legged man was talking with her, combing her horse's mane with his fingers.
"They'd just as well hand you the money right now, Miss Sallie," he said.
"You're too sure, Mr. Winch," she returned, laughing a little, all rosy through the faint brown of her face and neck.
Texas Hartwell drew a few slow steps nearer, something timid in his way, to hear again the vibrant music of her voice. What marvels the world held for him that day, he thought; what a vast amount of beauty and sensation it had been keeping from him here in this far-away place. First the one in velvet had taken away his breath, and now this one seemed to be calling the very heart out of his breast. In spite of his efforts to hold it anchored, he knew its peril was great.
"I don't know who this Wichita lady is," the man whom she had called Winch went on, "but I'll bet
