Skinny was stricken silent.  He realized he was on dangerous ground.  He wasn’t sure it would be wise to tell her what he meant.  Someway he felt Carolyn June would resent it if she knew he was drawing wages for acting the lover to her.  It seemed wholly impossible for him, just at that moment, to explain that, although Old Heck was paying him ten dollars a month extra salary to court, temporarily, his attractive niece, he, Skinny Rawlins, would personally be overjoyed to reverse the order and give his entire income, adding a bonus as well, for the privilege of continuing indefinitely and of his own choice the more than pleasant employment.  Yet this was the literal truth, so quickly had his susceptible heart yielded to the charms of the girl.  But he dared not try to tell her.  He knew the words would not come and if they did he would probably choke on them and she, not believing the truth, would detest him.  Skinny had heard of men who courted girls of wealth to win their money and with sincere contempt he despised these degenerates of his sex.  Now, suddenly, he felt that he himself was in their class.  The thought made him sick, actually caused his stomach to quiver with a sort of nausea.

“Skinny Rawlins,” Carolyn June said sternly, stopping and looking straight at the confused and mentally tortured cowboy, “tell me—­and don’t lie—­what you meant when you said to go with me was ‘your job!’”

Skinny raised his eyes; in them was piteous appeal.

“I meant—­I—­” he hesitated.

“Tell me the truth,” she ordered relentlessly, “or I’ll—­I’ll—­do something awful!”

“I meant it was my job—­” suddenly inspired, he blurted out, “to ride Old Pie Face.  He’s—­he’s dangerous and has to be rode every so often to keep him from getting worse and to-day’s the day to ride him!”

“Skinny,” Carolyn June spoke gently, “I feel sorry for you.  I want to like you and I’m disappointed.  It breaks my heart to say it but you are a liar—­you’re just a common double dashed liar—­like Uncle Josiah was when he sent that telegram saying there was smallpox at the Quarter Circle KT—­”

“Am I?” Skinny asked humbly.

“You are,” she retorted impatiently, “and you know it—­”

“Do I?” as if dazed.

“You do, and did all the time—­”

“Did I?” he felt like a parrot.

“You did!” Carolyn June snapped.  “Good heavens,” she continued, “why do men think they have to lie to women?  Common sense and experience ought to teach them they can never fool them long—­I hoped out here in the big West I would find one man who wouldn’t lie—­”

“Th’ Ramblin’ Kid won’t,” Skinny said as if suddenly struck by a bright thought, “—­he wouldn’t lie to you!”

Carolyn June laughed scornfully.

“Oh, yes he would,” she declared, “all of them do—­every last one of the poor frail”—­contemptuously—­“turtles!”

“But th’ Ramblin’ Kid wouldn’t,” Skinny persisted; “he won’t lie to anybody.”