Jean took two turns of the rope around the saddle horn and then looked him over critically.

In spite of herself, she smiled a little at his face, streaked still with grease paint, and at his eyes staring at her from between heavily penciled lids.
"That's what you get for following," she said, after a minute of staring at each other.

"Did you think I didn't know you were trailing along behind me?
I saw you before I turned the cattle loose, but I just let you think you were being real sly and cunning about it.

You did it in real moving-picture style; did your fat Mr.Robert Grant Burns teach you how?
What is the idea, anyway?
Were you going to abduct me and lead me to the swarthy chief of your gang, or band, or whatever you call it ?" Having scored a point against him and so put herself into a good humor again, Jean laughed at him and twitched the rope, just to remind him that he was at her mercy.

To be haughtily indignant with this honest-eyed, embarrassed young fellow with the streaky face and heavily-penciled eyelids was out of the question.