If I do, then I'll deserve what you--what I get.

But, Russ, don't think me a--a four-flush." All the long ride home we did not exchange another word.

The traveling gait of Sally's horse was a lope, that of mine a trot; and therefore, to my relief, she was always out in front.
As we neared the ranch, however, Sally slowed down until I caught up with her; and side by side we rode the remainder of the way.

At the corrals, while I unsaddled, she lingered.
"Russ, you didn't tell me if you agreed with me about Diane," she said finally.
"Maybe you're right.

I hope she's fallen in love with Steele.