“I don’t know why I didn’t, but I didn’t. I was sure locoed,” he confessed. “It was when you came out dressed as a gypsy that I knew. That explained to me a heap of things I never had understood before about you.” “It explained, I suppose, why I never had licked the stuffing out of any other kid, and why you did not get very far in making a man out of me as you promised,” she mocked. “Yes, and it explained how you happened to say you were eighteen. By mistake you let the truth slip out. Course I wouldn’t believe it.” “I remember you didn’t. I think you conveyed the impression to me diplomatically that you had doubts.” “I said it was a lie,” he laughed. “I sure do owe you a heap of apologies for being so plumb dogmatic when you knew best. You’ll have to sit down on me hard once in a while, or there won’t be any living with me.” Blushingly she did some more ignoring. “That was the first time you threatened to give me a whipping,” she recalled aloud. “My goodness! Did I ever talk so foolish?” “You did, and meant it.” “But somehow I never did it. I wonder why I didn’t.” “Perhaps I was so frail you were afraid you would break me.” “No, that wasn’t it. In the back of my haid somewhere there was an instinct that said: ‘Bucky, you chump, if you don’t keep your hands off this kid you’ll be right sorry all your life.’ Not being given to many ideas, I paid a heap of respect to that one.” “Well, it’s too bad, for I probably needed that whipping, and now you’ll never be able to give it to me.” “I shan’t ever want to now.” Saucily her merry eyes shot him from under the long lashes. “I’m not so sure of that. Girls can be mighty aggravating.” “That’s the way girls are meant to be, I expect,” he laughed. “But fifteen-year-old boys have to be herded back into line. There’s a difference.” She rescued her hands from him and led the way to a bench that served for a seat. “Sit down here, sir. There are one or two things that I have to explain.” She sat down beside him at the farther end of the bench. “This light is so dim, I can’t see you away over there,” he pleaded, moving closer. “You don’t need to see me. You can hear me, can’t you?” “I reckon.” She seemed to find a difficulty in beginning, even though the darkness helped her by making it impossible for him to see her embarrassment. Presently he chuckled softly. “No, ma’am, I can’t even hear you. If you’re talking, I’ll have to come closer.” “If you do, I’ll get up. I want you to be really earnest.” “I never was more earnest in my life, Curly.” “Please, Bucky? It isn’t easy to say it, and you mustn’t make it harder.” “Do you have to say it, pardner?” he asked, more seriously. “Yes, I have to say it.” And swiftly she blurted it out. “Why do you suppose I came with you to Mexico?” “I don’t know.” He grappled with her suggestion for a moment. “I suppose—you said it was because you were afraid of Hardman.”