“Hanging is too good—”
PINNACLE CITY was the oldest settlement in the Tumbling River country and had always been the county seat since the boundary lines had been drawn. Originally the place had been only a small settlement and the houses had been built along a wagon-road. And as the place grew larger this road became the main street, with very little added to the original width. In several places the road had twisted to avoid a mud-hole, and the main street was consequently very crooked.
But Pinnacle City had never become a metropolis. It was still the small cow-town; muddy in winter, dusty in summer, with poorly made wooden sidewalks which followed the contour of the ground fairly closely. The railroad had added little to Pinnacle City except a brick-red depot, warehouse and some loading corrals.
Eighteen miles southeast was the town of Kelo, and twelve miles northwest was the town of Ransome. Tumbling River ran southwest, cutting straight through the center of the valley. A short distance west of Pinnacle City were the high pinnacles of the Tumbling range, which gave the town its name. Barbed-wire had never made its appearance in the Tumbling River range, feed was good and there was plenty of water.
Five outfits ranged their stock in the Pinnacle City end of the Tumbling River range, the farthest away from town being Ed Merrick’s Circle M, located about eight miles due south. Midway between the town and the Circle M, and just on the east bank of Tumbling River, was Jim Wheeler’s HJ ranch.
Southwest, about three miles from town, was Curt Bellew’s Lazy B. This was on the west side of the river. A little less than three miles to the northeast of Pinnacle City was Uncle Hozie Wheeler’s Flying H; and four miles northwest of town was Buck West’s 3W3 outfit.
Jim Wheeler’s ranch was just between the wagon road and the railroad, on the way to Kelo. The two bridges were less than half a mile apart. Jim Wheeler’s wife had died when Peggy was a little slip of a girl, but Jim had kept his ranch and raised his daughter, aided and abetted by Aunt Emma Wheeler, who had wanted to raise her. The HJ was a small ranch. Jim had been con tent to run a few cattle and horses. Wong Lee, the Chinese cook, had been with the HJ for years, and Jim swore that the county had always assessed Wong as personal property of the HJ.
Uncle Hozie Wheeler’s Flying H was a larger outfit, employing three cowboys, Lonnie Myers, Dan Leach and “Nebrasky” Jones, known as the “Heavenly Triplets,” possibly because there was nothing heavenly about any of them. Lonnie was a loud- talking boy from the Milk River country; Dan Leach hailed from eastern Oregon, and Nebrasky’s cognomen disclosed the State of his nativity. Uncle Hozie called them his debating society and entered into their State arguments in favor of Arizona.
Curt Bellew’s Lazy B supported three cowboys: Eph Harper, “Slim” Coleman and Honey Bee. Mrs. Bellew contended that the ranch could be handled with one man, but that Curt wanted to match Hozie Wheeler in numbers. She pointed out the fact that Buck West could run his 3W3 outfit with only two men, Jimmy Black and Abe Liston, just because Buck wasn’t so lazy he couldn’t do some of the work himself. Which of course was a gentle hint that Curt might do more himself.
The Circle M ranged more stock than any of the other ranches and only carried three men besides Ed Merrick. Ben Collins, “Dutch” Siebert and Jack Ralston made up the personnel of the Circle M, since Len Kelsey had left them to take up his duties as deputy sheriff under Joe Rich.
IT WAS the morning following the wedding which had not taken place that Joe Rich rode up to the Flying H. All night long he had ridden across the hills, fighting out with himself to decide what to do, and he was a sorry-looking young man when he drew rein near the veranda of the Flying H ranch-house. He had ridden away without coat, hat or chaps. His trouser-legs were torn from riding past brush, his face scratched, his hair disheveled.
Uncle Hozie saw him from the window and came down to him. Lonnie Myers and Nebrasky were at the corral, saddling their horses. They merely glanced in his direction, recognizing him, but paying no attention. Uncle Hozie looked Joe over critically, but said nothing.
“Well, why don’t yuh say somethin’?” demanded Joe wearily. “My , Hozie, don’t just stand there! Swear at me, if yuh feel thataway.”
Uncle Hozie shook his head slowly and sighed. He had drunk a little too much the night before, and his spirits were not overly bright. A tin can rattled loudly, and they looked toward the stable, where Dan Leach was throwing out the stuff they had stacked in the stall for the shivaree.
Joe’s eyes closed tightly for a moment and he turned his head away. He knew what those noise producers had been meant for. A cow-bell clattered among the cans. Lonnie and Nebrasky were watching Joe from the corral.
“I don’t feel like cussin’ anybody,” said Uncle Hozie.
“Not even me?” asked Joe.
“You? Nope. What’sa use, Joe? If yuh cuss folks before they do wrong it might do some good. Afterward, it’s no use. Yuh can’t wipe out what a man writes in the book of fate, Joe.”
“And I shore wrote a page last night, Hozie.”
“Yea-a-ah, I’d tell a man yuh did, Joe.” Uncle Hozie cocked one eye and looked at Joe.
“There’s by actual count, seventeen fools in this Tumblin’ River range—and yo’re all of ’em, Joe.”
“I admit it, Hozie.”
“You do? My , you didn’t think for a minute yuh could deny it, didja? Huh! Why don’tcha git down? My , I hate to talk to a man on a horse! Especially the mornin’ after. Kinda hurts my eyes to look up.”
Joe shook his head.
“No, I can’t stay, Hozie.”
“Nobody asked yuh to, did they?”
“No. Is Peggy here yet?”
“No, she ain’t, Joe,” softly. “They went home last night—her and Jim and Laura Hatton. Jim thought it was best. Emma tried to get ’em to stay a while, but they kinda wanted to be at home, where there wouldn’t be anybody to ask questions.”
“To ask questions!” echoed Joe. “That’s the worst of it.”
“I dunno,” sighed Hozie. “It’s the first weddin’ I ever seen that raveled right out thataway. Honey Bee showed up with his coat in one hand and his shoes in the other. He shore was the worst-lookin’ best man I ever seen.”
“Poor old Honey.”
“Yeah, yuh ought to feel sorry for somebody, Joe. I don’t sabe yuh; by , I don’t! I thought I knew yuh, but I reckon I don’t. I ain’t said what I think about yuh to anybody. Mebbe I ain’t had no chance; so many folks has said what they thought about it that I’ve kinda got their ideas and mine all tangled up. Mebbe after while I’ll git my own ideas straightened up to where I know they’r all mine, I’ll look ’em over.”
“I suppose they’d like to hang me, Hozie.”
“Hang yuh? Huh! Reminds me of a Dutchman I knowed. He runs into a gang of punchers that was goin’ to lynch a horse thief. Dutchy runs into ’em, and asks what it’s all about.
“‘Vat iss it all about?’ asks Dutchy.
“‘Goin’ to hang a horse thief,’ says a puncher.
“‘Oh, dot’s too bad,’ says Dutchy. ‘You shouldn’t hang a man for stealing von horse.’
“‘It was yore horse, Dutchy.’
“‘So-o-o-o? Don’t hang him; dot’s too good for him. Let me kick him in de pants.’”
Joe smiled bitterly.
“Do you think hangin’ is too good for me, Hozie?” he asked.
“I don’t say it is, Joe; but when I got a look at Peggy last night I shore wanted to give yuh some of the Dutchman’s medicine.”
Joe wiped the back of his hand across his cheek and wet his lips with a dry tongue.
“I reckon I’m all through in Tumblin’ River, Hozie.”
“Well,” Uncle Hozie bit off a huge chew of tobacco and masticated rapidly, thoughtfully. “Well, Joe, it ain’t for me to say. I got up as far as ‘Silver Threads’ last night myself, but of course it wasn’t my weddin’ night. But, accordin’ to some remarks I heard expressed last night, the folks of the Tumblin’ River ain’t takin’ up no collection to buy yuh a monument. Yuh see, Joe, Peggy is kinda well liked.”
“Kinda well liked! My !” Joe shut his jaw tightly and fumbled at his reins. “I’ll be goin’, Hozie.”
“Yeah? Well.” Hozie spat thoughtfully, but did not look up at Joe.
“Be good to yourself,” he said slowly.
Joe turned and rode away, never looking back. Hozie sat down on the veranda and Aunt Emma came out. She had been watching from a window.
“What did he have to say?” she asked.
“Joe? Oh, nothin’ much.”
“What excuse did he offer?”
“None.”
“Didn’t deny bein’ drunk?”
“Didn’t mention it.”
“Feel sorry about it, Hozie?”
“Didn’t say.”
“Well, what in the world did you two talk about?”
“Public opinion.”
Aunt Emma snorted.
“Public opinion, eh? Did you tell him what you thought of him?”
“Nope; wasn’t quite clear in my own mind, Emma.”
“I suppose not. If Jim hadn’t stopped yuh last night—”
“Oh, I know,” Hozie smiled softly. “My voice was kinda good, too. Curt Bellew said he never heard me sing so well.”
“Curt was drunk, too.”
“Thasso. Prob’ly accounts for him likin’ my voice. I’d like to sing to a sober man some day and get an honest opinion.”
“No sober man would listen to you, Hozie.”
“I s’pose not,” Uncle Hozie sighed deeply. “I suppose it’s jist sort of a drunken bond between inebriates that makes me feel sorry for Joe Rich, Emma; but I do. He looked so doggone helpless and lonesome this mornin’. No, I didn’t tell him I felt sorry. He don’t deserve sympathy.”
“He don’t deserve anythin’,” declared Aunt Emma.
“Hangin’—mebbe.”
“And you feel sorry for him?”
“I want to, Emma,” Uncle Hozie turned and looked at her. “I’ve worked with that boy a lot. Me and him have rubbed knees on some hard rides, and I kinda looked on Joe like I would on my own son. He was straight and square—until now, Emma. Mebbe,” he hesitated for a moment, “mebbe I’m feelin’ sorry for the Joe Rich of yesterday.”
“Well, that’s different, Hozie,” said Aunt Emma softly, and went back in the house. She had thought a lot of Joe Rich of yesterday, too.
Joe rode back to Pinnacle City and stabled his tired horse. He had spent all his savings for a little four-room house on the outskirts of Pinnacle and had gone in debt for the furnishings. It was to have been their home.
Len Kelsey was asleep in the office when Joe came in and sat down at his desk. He woke up and looked curiously at Joe.
“Wondered where yuh was, Joe,” he said sleepily.
“Yeah?”
Joe drew out a sheet of paper, dipped a pen in the ink bottle and began writing. Kelsey turned over and went to sleep again.
Joe finished writing, folded the paper and walked out of the office. Just south of his office was the old two-story frame-building court-house, and as Joe started to enter the front door he met Jim Wheeler and Angus McLaren, chairman of the board of county commissioners.
McLaren was a big, raw-boned Scot who owned a general store in Kelo. McLaren, Ed Merrick and Ross Layton, of Ransome, composed the board of commissioners.
Joe Rich stopped short as he faced Jim Wheeler. For possibly five seconds the HJ cattleman stared at the sheriff of Tumbling River, and then, without a word, he struck Joe square in the face, knocking him out through the doorway, where Joe went to his haunches on the sidewalk, dazed, bleeding from his nose and mouth.
Quickly the big Scotsman stepped in front of Wheeler, grasping him with both hands.
“Stop it, Jim!” he ordered.
Wheeler stepped back, his face crimson with anger, but saying nothing.
Joe did not get up, nor did he even look at Wheeler, who stepped past McLaren and went slowly up the street.
“Are ye hurt much, Joe?” asked McLaren not unkindly. He knew all about what had happened the night before.
Joe did not reply. He got slowly to his feet and leaned against the building, while he drew out the folded sheet of paper. Then he unpinned the silver star from the bosom of his soiled shirt, pinned it to the sheet of paper and handed it to McLaren. Then he turned and went slowly down the street.
McLaren stared after him. Joe Rich staggered slightly, but he was not drunk. McLaren unfolded the paper and read it carefully. It was Joe’s resignation, written to the board of county commissioners. McLaren put it in his pocket.
“Life’s queer,” said the big Scot thoughtfully. “Yesterday he was Joe Rich, sheriff of Tumblin’ River, the luckiest young man in the world. And today—nobody! Ye never know yer luck, so ye don’t; and who has the right to judge him?”
He turned and went back to his office.
Joe staggered off the main street and went down through an alley. He wanted to get off the street; to be where no one would talk to him. Strangely enough he felt no pain from the blow. Except for the fact that his face was bleeding, he was not aware he had been hurt.
The thought of Jim Wheeler knocking him down hurt worse than any blow, and he moved along blindly; not going anywhere—just away from everybody. He did not realize where he was until he heard a voice speak his name.
He was standing beside a picket-fence, and there was Honey Bee, holding the reins of his horse. The picket-fence was the one around Joe’s house; the one Aunt Emma had called “Honeymoon Home.”
“I seen yuh cuttin’ across this way,” explained Honey. “My , yuh shore got an awful lookin’ face on yuh, cowboy. Horse kick yuh?”
Joe shook his head. He didn’t want to talk with Honey Bee, but he knew there was no chance of getting away from him. Honey was tying his horse to the fence, and now he came over to Joe.
“Mebbe we better go in the house, Joe,” he said. “Yuh got to wash off that blood.”
Joe nodded and followed Honey to the house. It was not locked. Folks did not lock their houses in the Tumbling River country. Honey filled a basin with water and found a towel. Honey was rather rough but effective.
“Yo’re a of a lookin’ thing,” he declared.
“Thasall right,” mumbled Joe. “Thanks, Honey.”
Joe slumped back in a rocking-chair and closed his eyes, while Honey put away the basin and towel.
“I’m wonderin’ what the other feller looks like,” said Honey, as he manufactured a cigaret.
“Jim Wheeler,” said Joe.
“The ! Did Jim Wheeler hit yuh, Joe?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll be ! Jim Wheeler! What did he say, Joe?”
“Nothin’. Wasn’t anythin’ to be said.”
“Uh-huh. Makes it kinda hard for yuh, cowboy. Anyway, yuh had to meet him sooner or later. Ain’tcha goin’ out to see Peggy?”
“No, I can’t do that, Honey.”
“I s’pose not. I was past there today—this mornin’. Saw Laura. Didn’t sleep none, I reckon. She’s a darned pretty girl, but this mornin’ her eyes shore looked like two burned holes in a blanket. I pulled off an awful fox pass last night. I took off my coat and shoes, ’cause I shore was in misery, and then Laura comes hoppin’ in on me. I has to make my little bow, and my belt missed connections with my pants. Na-a-aw, I saved myself, all right; but it shore needed quick action. Either that tailor is awful cock-eyed, or I’m a queer built jigger.”
“You didn’t see Peggy?” asked Joe softly.
“Nope. I asked Laura how she was, and Laura asks me how any other girl would be under them conditions. If I was you, I’d go out and have a talk with her. But not the way yuh look now, Joe. Rest up a while. Let Len Kelsey run the office for a few days.”
“I resigned this mornin’, Honey.”
“Yuh resigned? Yuh mean you’ve quit bein’ sheriff? Aw, , why didja do that? You-idjit! Throwin’ up a job like that. Ho-o-o-o—hum-m-m-m! Joe, yo’re a fool”
“In every way, Honey.”
“A-a-aw, I didn’t mean it thataway, Joe. You know me. I’d go to and half way back for you, and you know it. But you’ve shore dug yourself an awful hole, and you’ll never git out by quittin’ that away. Laura is tryin’ to get Peggy to go home with her for a while. She’ll prob’ly have one awful time convincin’ Jim Wheeler that it’s the best thing for Peggy to do—but Laura is shore convincin’.”
“You mean that Peggy would go East, Honey?”
“Yeah, sure. She’s got friends back there; folks she knew where she went to school with Laura. Mebbe it’s the best thing for her to do. Jim ain’t got a lot of money, but he can afford it, I reckon. What do you figure on doin’, Joe?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Honey. I can’t make up my mind to anythin’. I just run in circles, and every way I turn there’s a blank wall; no way out.”
“Yeah, I s’pose so. Let’s go and buy a drink.”
Joe shook his head.
“I don’t think I’ll ever want another drink of liquor, Honey. I’m goin’ to sleep a while, and mebbe I can think my way clear.”
Honey came past the court-house and saw Jim Wheeler, Angus McLaren, Ed Merrick and Ross Layton just going into the place. They were going to consider the resignation of Joe Rich, and it did not take them long to decide on an acceptance.
Ross Layton was a saloon owner in Ransome. He was rather small, slightly gray, and affected flowing ties and fancy vests. The rest of his raiment was rather somber, a fact which had caused Honey Bee to remark—
“Looks like a bouquet of flowers wrapped up in crêpe.”
There was no argument over the appointment of Len Kelsey as the successor of Joe Rich, and it was up to Len to pick his own deputy. They went from the courthouse to the sheriff’s office, where they told Len of his good fortune. The skinny-faced deputy grinned widely and accepted his honors. As the three men were leaving Len said to Merrick—
“Send Jack in to see me, Ed.”
“All right, Len,” nodded Merrick.
Len and Jack Ralston had been bunkies at the Circle M, and it would be the natural thing for Len to appoint Jack as his deputy.
McLaren had some business to attend to at the Pinnacle City bank, so he left Merrick and Wheeler together. Layton had left them at the sheriff’s office.
“It’s sure funny how things change,” observed Merrick.
The owner of the Circle M was slightly under forty years of age, above medium height. He was rather good-looking and dressed well. However, he looked more like a gambler than a county official and a solid citizen. Perhaps this aspect was enhanced by the fact that he shaved regularly, kept his black mustache trimmed and waxed to needle-like points, and wore pants instead of overalls.
“I was thinkin’ about Joe Rich,” said Merrick.
Jim Wheeler shoved his hands deep in his pockets and did not lift his eyes from serious contemplation of his own boot-toes.
“I wanted to talk to yuh, Merrick,” he said slowly. “This sure has been a blow to me. Laura Hatton wants Peggy to go home with her. I dunno—mebbe’s it’s the best thing to do. I don’t mind layin’ my cards on the table.”
Jim Wheeler looked up at Merrick.
“I owe the Pinnacle City bank seven thousand dollars and I can’t ask ’em for any more, Merrick.”
“Uh-huh.” Merrick did not seem impressed.
“You know what the HJ ranch is, Merrick. Seven thousand is a lot of money against it. I’ve got to have another thousand, if I send Peggy back with Laura.”
“Well, I might let yuh have it, Jim. Bank got a mortgage?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll take your note. How soon do yuh need it?”
“Any time in the next couple of days.”
“All right, I’ll let yuh have it, Jim.”
They separated and Merrick went to the Pinnacle Saloon, where he met Honey Bee. Honey had drunk enough to make him loquacious.
“Didja accept Joe’s resignation?” asked Honey.
“Nothin’ else to do,” replied Merrick. There was little love lost between these two men.
“Uh-huh.” Honey leaned against the bar and cuffed his hat to one side of his head.
“Who’sa sheriff now?”
“Len Kelsey.”
“O-o-o-oh, is that so? My, my! Things shore do change quick. If yuh had a lawyer and a doctor in yore Circle M, you’d kinda run the whole danged country, wouldn’t yuh?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Merrick grinned and invited Honey to have a drink.
“Well, I’ll drink with yuh,” agreed Honey. “I’m sad at heart.” They lifted their glasses to each other.
“Hits Jim Wheeler pretty hard,” said Merrick gravely.
“Sure does. Here’s how.”
“He tells me,” said Merrick, placing his glass on the bar, “that his daughter is goin’ East with Miss Hatton.”
“Yeah, I heard that,” said Honey sadly. “I didn’t know it was all settled.”
“I reckon it is. Anyway, I’m makin’ a loan to Jim. He’s in kinda heavy at the bank; so I’m lettin’ him have the money.”
“Uh-huh. Well, that’s nice of yuh.”
“Where’s Joe Rich, Honey?”
“I left him down at his new place, settin’ there, lookin’ at nothin’. That boy’s half crazy.”
“Must have been more than half crazy,” declared Merrick.
“Yeah. Now I’ll buy a drink.”
Honey went back to Joe’s place before he went to the Lazy B, and found Joe still sitting in the same chair. He told Joe what Merrick had said about Jim’s borrowing money from Merrick to send Peggy with Laura.
“How much did he have to borrow?” asked Joe.
Honey didn’t know.
“Jim Wheeler must be short of money,” said Honey. “Merrick said he was in pretty deep with the Pinnacle bank. They accepted yore resignation and appointed Len Kelsey, Joe.”
“Quick work,” said Joe shortly.
“Yeah, I’ll say it is. You were a fool to quit that job.”
Honey left him there and rode out of town. He intended going straight back to the Lazy B, but began thinking about Laura Hatton so strongly that he found himself crossing the Tumbling River bridge before he realized where he was heading.
Jim Wheeler arrived there ahead of Honey, and was sitting on the porch, talking with Peggy and Laura, while Jack Ralston, of the Circle M, sat on a step, hat on the back of his head. Ralston was a tall, curly-headed young man who thought quite a lot of Jack Ralston. He was a clever roper, and one of the best bronc riders in the country.
Honey scowled and wanted to keep right on riding, but he was so close that it might look queer if he didn’t stop. Peggy went into the house before Honey arrived. Ralston looked critically at Honey, nodded shortly, and resumed conversation with Laura.
Honey dismounted. Then he uncinched his saddle, shook it a little, and took plenty of time cinching it again. He knew he was of a hair-trigger disposition, and was trying to curb it. Ralston was telling Laura about how he rode Derelict, a locally famous outlaw horse, at a recent rodeo. Honey’s ears reddened slightly. Derelict had thrown Honey the day before Ralston had ridden him, and it had taken ten minutes for Honey to recover consciousness.
“It must be wonderful to ride a bucking horse,” said Laura. “I saw Lonnie Myers ride one at the Flying H. Oh, it was a lot of fun!”
“That was just an ordinary bucker,” said Ralston. “Any puncher can ride a half-broke bucker. Lots of the boys in this country think they’re riders, but when it comes to fannin’ the real buckers—they don’t show much. You wait until we have another rodeo, and I’ll show yuh some ridin’.”
“Yeah, he’s a good rider,” said Honey, still fussing with his latigo. “Awful good rider. I shouldn’t be surprized if he’s half as good as he thinks he is. Ridin’ broncs makes folks talk thataway. Of course, us ord’nary punchers don’t go lookin’ for glory in the bronc corral, so we never do get shook up very bad. But you can tell them good riders every time. They’re kinda buck-drunk, as yuh might say. They ain’t very tight-brained to begin with, and all that shock and jerk soon gits the inside of their heads kinda rattly.
“Oh, they’re all right, as far as that goes. Nobody expects ’em to do anythin’ but ride buckers. But they don’t know it, and the way them p’fessional bronc riders do talk! Mebbe they ain’t so much to blame, at that; but everythin’ is ‘I’ with ’em. Rodeos are all right, I s’pose. Folks get a lot of fun out of it; but them buckin’ contests shore do bring in undesirable citizens.”
Honey had spoken so earnestly that Laura Hatton did not realize he was talking about Jack Ralston.
But Jack Ralston knew. He got to his feet, glaring at Honey, who paid no attention to him at all. He adjusted the split-ear headstall of his bridle, looked it over critically and came over to the steps. Ralston glanced from Honey to Laura and then shot a glance at Jim Wheeler, who, in spite of the misery in his soul, was trying to stifle a laugh.
“Well, I’ll be goin’,” said Ralston. “Good day.”
Honey twisted his mouth into a wide grin as he watched Ralston ride away.
“He is very entertaining,” said Laura.
“Who—Jack?” Honey grinned widely. “Liars mostly always are.”
Jim Wheeler laughed and went into the house, for which Honey thanked him mentally. Honey sat down on the steps, cuffed his hat to the back of his head and sighed deeply.
“How’s Peggy feelin’?” he asked.
“Better. She’s going back home with me; it’s all settled.”
“Uh-huh,” said Honey gloomily. “Lotta luck in that for me.”
“For you?”
“Yeah; you goin’ away.”
“Oh!” Laura’s blue eyes opened wide. “Well, you knew I was only here on a visit, Honey.”
“Oh! shore; I knowed it. Yuh can’t stay, huh?”
“Not very well.”
“Uh-huh. I s’pose—” Honey hesitated awkwardly. “I s’pose you’ve got a lot of fellers back East, eh?”
He pointed north, but the direction made no difference. Laura smiled.
“Fellows? A few—perhaps.”
“Uh-huh.” Honey scuffed a heel against the step, rattling his spur-chain. “I s’pose you’ll be gettin’ married, huh?”
“When?”
“Oh, some of these days,” gloomily.
Laura shook her pretty head violently.
“You bet I won’t! After what happened last night I wouldn’t marry the best man on earth.”
“I’m shore glad to hear yuh say that,” said Honey seriously.
“Why?” demanded Laura quickly.
“’Cause if yuh marry the man I hope yuh will, yuh shore won’t be gettin’ the best man in the world.”
Laura blushed and got to her feet. Honey got up, too, and they faced each other.
“You ain’t sore, are yuh, Laura?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly.
“No, Honey; I can’t get mad at you—but I do think you are awfully funny.”
She turned and walked into the house. Honey stared at the doorway for several moments before going back to his horse.
“She thinks I’m awfully funny,” he told his horse. “I must be—she didn’t even crack a smile.”