Cookie caught the pan on his foot before it struck the floor and gasped:
"Invite? Ain't it free-fer-all?"
"No; this is a high-toned thing-a-bob. Costs a dollar a head, too."
"High-toned?" snorted the cook, derisively. "Don't they know you? An' I
thought Red was broke. Show me that permit!"
"Lucas 's got it--that's why I 've got to catch him."
"Oh! An' is _he_ goin' all feathered up, too?"
"Shore, he 's got to."
"Huh! He wouldn't dress like that to see a _fight_. Has she got any
sisters?" Cookie finished, hopefully.
"Now what you talkin' about?"
"Why, Lucas," answered the cook, placidly. "Lemme tell you something.
When you want to lose me have a invite to a water-drinkin' contest. An'
before you go, be shore to rub Hoppy's boots some more; that's such a
pasty shine it 'll look like sand-paper before you get to th'--dance.
You want to make it hard an' slippery. An' I 've read som'ers that only
wimmin ought to smell like a drug-store. You better let her do th'
fumigatin'."
Johnny surrendered and dolefully whiffed the crushed violets he had paid
two bits a pint for at El Paso--it was not necessary to whiff them, but
he did so.
"You ought to hone yore razor, too," continued the cook, critically.
"I told Buck it was dull, I ain't goin' to sharpen it for him. But,
say, are you shore about th' perfumery?"
"Why, of course."
"But how 'll I git it off?"
"Bury th' clothes," suggested Cookie, grinning.
"I like yore gall! Which clothes are best, Pete's or Billy's?"
"Pete's would fit you like th' wide, wide world. You don't want blankets
on when you go courtin'. Try Billy's. An' I got a pair of socks,
though one 's green--but th' boots 'll hide it."
"I did n't put none on my socks, you chump!"
"How'd _I_ know? But, say! Has she got any sisters?"
"No!" yelled Johnny, halfway through the gallery in search of Billy's
clothes. When he emerged Cookie looked him over. "Ain't it funny, Kid,
how a pipe 'll stink up clothes?" he smiled. Johnny's retort was made
over several yards of ground and when he had mounted Cookie yelled and
waved him to return. When Johnny had obeyed and impatiently demanded
the reason, Cookie pleasantly remarked: "Now, be shore an' give her my
love, Kid."
Johnny's reply covered half a mile of trail.
Johnny rode alertly through Perry's Bend, for Sheriff Nolan was no
friend of his; and Nolan was not only a discarded suitor of Miss Joyce,
but a warm personal friend of George Greener, the one rival Johnny
feared. Greener was a widower as wealthy as he was unscrupulous, and a
power on that range: when he said "jump," Nolan soared.
The sheriff was standing before the Palace saloon when Johnny rode past,
and he could not keep quiet. His comment was so judiciously chosen as
to bring white spots on Johnny's flushed cheeks. The Bar-20 puncher was
not famed for his self-control, and, wheeling in the saddle, he pointed
a quivering forefinger at Mr. Nolan's badge of office, so conspicuously
displayed: "Better men than you have hid behind a badge and banked on a
man's regard for th' law savin' 'em from their just deserts. Politics
is a h--l of a thing when it opens th' door to anything that might roll
in on th' wind. You come down across th' line tomorrow an' see me,
without th' nickel-plated ornament you disgraces," he invited. "Any dog
can tell a lie in his kennel, but it takes guts to bark outside th'
yard."
Mr. Nolan flushed, went white, hesitated, and walked away. To fight in
defense of the law was his duty; but no sane man warred on the Bar-20
unless he must. Mr. Nolan was a man whose ideas of necessity followed
strange curves, and not to his credit. One might censure Mr. Cassidy or
Mr. Connors, or pick a fight with some of the others of that outfit and
not get killed; but he must not harm their protege. Mr. Nolan not only
walked away but he sought the darkest shadows and held conversation with
himself. If it were only possible to get the pugnacious and very much
spoiled Mr. Nelson to fracture, smash, pulverize some law! This,
indeed, would be sweet.
Meanwhile Johnny, having watched the sheriff slip away, loosed a few
more words into the air and went on his way, whistling cheerfully.
Reaching the Joyce cottage he was admitted by Miss Joyce herself and at
sight of her blushing face his exuberant confidence melted and left him
timid. This he was wont to rout by big words and a dashing air he did
not feel.
"Oh! Come right in," she invited. "But you are late," she laughed,
chidingly.
He critically regarded the dimples, while he replied that he had drawn
rein to slay the sheriff but, knowing that it would cost him more
valuable time, he had consented with himself to postpone the event.
"But you must not do that!" she cried. "Why, that's terrible! You
shouldn't even think of such things."
"Well, of course--if yo 're agin' it I wont."
"But what did he do?"
"Oh, I don't reckon I can tell that. But do you really want him to
live?"
"Why, certainly! What a foolish question."
"But why do you? Do you--_like_ him?"
"I like everybody."
"Yes; an' everybody likes you, too," he growled, the smile fading.
"That's th' trouble. Do you like him very much?"
"I wish you wouldn't ask such foolish questions."
"Yes; I know. But do you?"
"I prefer not to answer."
"Huh! That's an answer in itself. You do."
"I don't think you 're very nice tonight," she retorted, a little pout
spoiling the bow in her lips. "You 're awfully jealous, and I don't
like it."
"Gee! Don't like it! I should think you 'd want me to be jealous. I
only wish you was jealous of _me_. Norah, I 've just got to say it now,
an' find out--"
"Yes; tell me," she interrupted eagerly. "What _did_ he do?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Nolan, of course."
"Nolan?" he demanded in surprise.
"Yes, yes; tell me."
"I ain't talkin' about him. I was goin' to tell you something that I
've--"
"That you 've done and now regret? Have you ever--ever killed a man?"
she breathed. "Have you?"
"No; _yes_! Lots of 'em," he confessed, remembering that once she had
expressed admiration for brave and daring men. "Most half as many as
Hopalong; an' I ain't near as old as him, neither."
"You mean Mr. Cassidy? Why don't you bring him with you some evening?
I 'd like to meet him."
"Not _me_. I went an' brought a friend along once, an' had to lick him
th' next day to keep him away from here. He 'd 'a' camped right out
there in front if I had n't. No, ma'am; not any."
"Why, the idea! But Mr. Greener's very much like your friend, Mr.
Cassidy. He 's very brave, and a wonderful shot. He told me so
himself."
"What! He told you so hisself! Well, well. Beggin' yore pardon, he
ain't nowise like Hoppy, not even in th' topics of his conversation.
Why, he 's a child; an' blinks when he shoots off a gun. Here--can he
show a gun like mine?" and forthwith he held out his Colt, butt
foremost, and indicated the notches he had cut that afternoon. A
fleeting doubt went through his mind at what his outfit would say when
it saw those notches. The Bar-20 cut no notches. It wanted to forget.
She looked at them curiously and suddenly drew back. "Oh! Are
they--_are_ they?" she whispered.
He nodded: "They are. There is plenty of room for Nolan's, an' mebby
his owner, too," he suggested. "Can't you see, Norah?" he asked in a
swift change of tone. "Can't you see? Don't you know how much I--"
"Yes. It must be terrible to have such remorse," she quickly
interposed. "And I sympathize with you deeply, too."
"Remorse nothin'! Them fellers was lookin' for it, an' they got just
what they deserved. If I had n't 'a' done it somebody else would."
"And _you_ a murderer! I never thought that of _you_. I can hardly
believe it of you. And you calmly confess it to me as though it were
nothing!"
"Why, I--I--"
"Don't talk to me! To think you have human blood on your hands. To
think--"
"Norah! Norah, listen; won't you?"
"--that you are that sort of a man! How dare you call here as you have?
How dare you?"
"But I tell you they were tryin' to get _me_! I just _had_ to. Why, I
didn't do it for nothin'. I 've got a right to defend myself, ain't I?"
"You _had_ to? Is that true?" she demanded.
"Why, shore! Think I go 'round killin' men, like Greener does, just for
th' fun of it?"
"He doesn't do anything of the kind," she retorted. "You know he does
n't! Did n't you just say he blinks when he shoots off a gun?"
"Yes; I did. But I didn't want you to think he was a murderer like
Nolan," he explained. Even Cookie, he thought, would find it hard to
get around that neat little effort.
"I 'm so relieved," she laughed, delighted at her success in twisting
him. "I am so glad he does n't blink when he shoots. I 'd hate a man
who was afraid to shoot."