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“Seems to me, if I was you, I’d say something,” Javan replied. “No, I’m not going to argue with the old, stuffy Fordides. She’s not my boss and I’m not that concerned about it. All the same, I think it’s awful mean of ‘em to give you the worst jobs of the lot. Why do they do it, d’ you suppose?”
Rowenna straightened and looked up at him again. Her lips were pressed together as she thought of a reply. But before it came forth, Javan went on.
“I’ll bet I know why.” He plopped to the ground beside her, folding his legs beneath him. His eyes were wide as he spoke. “It’s ‘cause you used to live with the outlaws, that’s what.” He nodded his head sagely. “They figure you don’t know how to do much else than slit throats and take care of yourself, so they have to keep you to simple work where’ve you no chance to murder no one. That’s why, I expect.” He took a bite of bread and before he could get it chewed and swallowed his quick, running mind came up with a question that he would dearly love answered.
“Was it exciting living with the outlaws? I saw you at the trial. You said you fought! And you’re only a woman! Did they bring in a lot of treasure and gold? They were cut-throats, weren’t they? Did they ever bring in heads?”
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