The Sheriff's Son
forth on the part of the boys and Charlton and her uncle, Buck Rutherford. They had a way of getting off into a corner of the corral and talking low for hours at a time. And now Street had come into the tangle. Were they watching him for fear he might be a detective?
Her resentment against him and them boiled over into swift wrath. "You 're a fine lot—all of you. I'd like to wash my hands clean of the whole outfit." She turned on her heel and strode limping to the house.
Ned laughed as he swung to the back of one of the two broncos waiting with drooped heads before the porch. He admired this frank, forthright sister who blazed so handsomely into rage. He would have fought for her, even though he pretended to make a joke of her.
"Boots sure goes some. You see what you may be letting yourself in for, Brad," he scoffed good-naturedly.
Charlton answered with cool aplomb. "Don't you worry about me, Ned. I travel at a good lick myself. She 'll break to double harness fine."
Without touching the stirrup this knight of the chaparreras flung himself into the saddle, the rowels of his spurs whirring as he vaulted.
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