Johnny put the letter carefully in his saddle pocket.
"Don't you think maybe you're leaving an opening for some of the
cattle to slip out?" he said, twitching his thumb toward Weir's
deserted post.
"Let them other waddies circulate a little--lazy dogs! Won't hurt 'em
any. Cattle ain't troublin', nohow. Cole, he told me himself to slide
over and give you my letters. Darned funny if a man can't gas a little
once in a while." He gave Johnny a black look. "Say, feller! Maybe you
don't like my talk?"
"No," said Johnny, "I don't. Not unless you change the subject. That
young lady wouldn't want you to be talking her over with any tough
you meet."
Jody Weir checked his horse and regarded Dines with a truculent stare.
"Aw, hell! She ain't so particular! Here, let me show you the stuff
she writes, herself." His hand went to his vest pocket. "Some baby!"
"Here! That's enough! I'm surprised at you, Jody. I never was plumb
foolish about you, but I suhtenly thought you was man enough not to
kiss and tell. That's as low-down as they ever get, I reckon."
"You ain't got no gun. And you're too little for me to maul round--say
nothing of scaring the herd and maybe wasting a lot."
"All that is very true--to-day. But it isn't a question of guns, just
now. I'm trying to get you to shut up that big blackguard mouth of
yours. If you wasn't such a numskull you'd see that I'm a-doin' you a
good turn."
"You little sawed-off, bench-legged pup! I orter throw this gun away
and stomp you into the sand! Aw, what's a-bitin' you? I ain't named no
names, have I? You're crowdin' me purty hard. What's the matter,
feller? Got it in for me, and usin' this as an excuse? When'd I ever
do you any dirt?"
"Never," said Johnny. "Get this straight: I'm not wanting any fight.
It's decency I'm trying to crowd on to you--not a fight."
"I can't write to my girl without your say-so, hey?"
"Now you listen! Writing to a girl, fair and above-board, is one
thing. Writing unbeknownst to her folks, with loose talk about her on
the side, is another thing altogether. It's yourself you're doing dirt
to--and to this girl that trusted you."
Jody's face showed real bewilderment. "How? You don't know her name.
Nobody knows her name. No one knows I have more than a nodding
acquaintance with her--unless she told you!" His eyes flamed with
sudden suspicion. "You know her yourself--she told you!"
"Jody, you put me in mind of the stealthy hippopotamus, and likewise
of the six-toed Wallipaloova bird, that hides himself under his
wing," said Dines. "I've never been in Hillsboro, and I never saw your
girl. But when you write her a letter addressed to yourself--why don't
your dad take that letter home and keep it till you come? How is she
going to get it out of the post office? She can't--unless she works in
the post office herself. Old man Seiber is postmaster at Hillsboro.
I've heard that much. And he's got a daughter named Kitty. You see now
I was telling you true--you talk too much."
Weir's face went scarlet with rage.
"Here's a fine how-de-do about a damn little--"
That word was never uttered. Johnny's horse, with rein and knee and
spur to guide and goad, reared high and flung sidewise. White hoofs
flashed above Weir's startled eyes; Johnny launched himself through
the air straight at Jody's throat. Johnny's horse fell crashing after,
twisting, bestriding at once the other horse and the two locked and
straining men. Weir's horse floundered and went down, men and horses
rolled together in the sand. From first to last you might have
counted--one--two--three--four! Johnny came clear of the tangle with
Jody's six-shooter in his hand. He grabbed Jody by the collar and
dragged him from under the struggling horses.
"We can't go on with this, Jody!" he said gravely. "You've got no
gun!"