"Jerry wants to talk to you.

He's the whitest of the lot, if you can call that--" she stopped abruptly, put out a hand to the door, gave him a moment to look into her deep, troubled eyes, and closed the door gently but inexorably in his face.
Jerry was standing at the corner of the house smoking negligently.

He waited until Bud had come close alongside him, then led the way slowly down the path to the corrals.
"I thought I heard the horses fighting," he remarked.

"There was a noise down this way." "Is that why you called me outside ?" asked Bud, who scorned subterfuge.
"Yeah.

I saw you wasn't dancing or singing or playing the piano--and I knew Honey'd likely be looking you up to do one or the other, in a minute.