Next day, late in the afternoon, when Carley came out on the porch, she was hailed by Flo, who had just ridden in from down the canyon.
“Hey Carley, come down. I shore have something to tell you,” she called.
Carley did not use any time pattering down that rude porch stairway. Flo was dusty and hot, and her chaps carried the unmistakable scent of sheep-dip.
“Been over to Ryan's camp an' shore rode hard to beat Glenn home,” drawled Flo.
“Why?” queried Carley, eagerly.
“Reckon I wanted to tell you something Glenn swore he wouldn't let me tell. ... He makes me tired. He thinks you can't stand things.”
“Oh! Has he been—hurt?”
“He's skinned an' bruised up some, but I reckon he's not hurt.”
“Flo—what happened?” demanded Carley, anxiously.
“Carley, do you know Glenn can fight like the de
