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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

And he's forgot you already, Liz, the minute he
stopped laughing at you for bein' so easy."
"Ma, are you goin' to let Sue talk like this--right before a stranger?"
"Sue, you shut up!" commanded the father.
"I don't see nobody that can make me," she said, surly as a grown boy.
"I can't make any more of a fool out of Liz than that tenderfoot made
her!"
"Did he," asked Steve, "ride a piebald mustang?"
"D'you know him?" breathed Lizzie, forgetting the tears of shame which
had been gathering in her eyes.
"Nope. Jest heard a little about him along the road."
"What's his name?"
Then she coloured, even before Sue could say spitefully: "Didn't he even
have to tell you his name before he kissed you?"
"He did! His name is--Tony!"
"Tony!"--in deep disgust. "Well, he's dark enough to be a dago! Maybe
he's a foreign count, or something, Liz, and he'll take you back to live
in some castle or other."
But the girl queried, in spite of this badinage: "Do you know his name?"
"His name," said Nash, thinking that it could do no harm to betray as
much as this, "is Anthony Bard, I think.


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