"What are you figuring to do now?" questioned the little man when
Sanderson finished.
"I'm tellin' her right now," declared Sanderson. "She'll salivate me,
most likely, for me lettin' her kiss me an' fuss over me. But I ain't
carin' a heap. I ain't never been no hand at deceivin' no one--I ain't
foxy enough. There's been times since I've been here when I've been
scared to open my mouth for fear my damned heart would jump out. I
reckon she'll just naturally kill me when she finds it out, but I don't
seem to care a heap whether she does or not."
The little man narrowed his eyes at Sanderson.
"You're deeply in love with her, I suppose?"
Sanderson flushed; then his gaze grew steady and cold. "Up till now
you've minded your own business," he said. "If you'll keep on mindin'
it, we'll----"
"Of course," grinned Owen. "You couldn't help loving her--I love her,
too. You say you're going to tell her. Don't do it. Why should you?
Don't you see that if you told her that her brother had been murdered
she'd never get over it? She's that kind.
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