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"Had not Miss Chuckie chanced to be passing as the monster rattled You know, she says that she might not have heeded it but for your killing the other snake yesterday. That put her on the alert." The puncher stared across the table at the city man with a coldly speculative gaze. "You shore are a lucky tenderfoot," he repeated.
They returned during the regular supper hour. The cowman washed quickly and hastened in to the table. Gowan, however, loitered just outside the door, fastening and refastening his neckerchief. He entered the dining-room while Isobel was in the midst of telling her father about the snake. "Did you hear, Kid?" she asked, when she finished her vivid account. "Yes, Miss Chuckie.
This raised a clamor of dissent from the older men. "Tell you what," shouted another. "Let Miss Chuckie cut out the lucky ones." "That's the ticket Now you're talking!" Every man shouted approval, and fell silent as Isobel sprang up from beside Genevieve. "Friends!" she exclaimed, her eyes radiant, "it's such times as these that makes life grand!
Then the Utes stampeded them clean out of the country, and I bought up their titles at a fair figure." "And you own even that splendid pool up where I had my camp?" "Everything wet on this range that a cow or hawss can get to, this time of year." Ashton considered, and advised craftily: "Don't tell him this. Does Miss Chuckie know it?"
The puncher swung down from his saddle, not to assist them, but to remonstrate with Isobel. "Been expecting to meet you, all the way up, Miss Chuckie," he said. "Ain't you staying too late? You won't get home before long after dark." "Mrs. Blake and I are not going down tonight, Kid," replied the girl, and she explained the change of plans.
"No, you're dead right, Miss Chuckie," he agreed. "There shore ain't any joke about it." "Ah, but perhaps I can make one," gayly dissented Ashton. "Had you not interfered, Miss Chuckie, the poor snake would have taken one bite, and then curled up and died. I'm so charged with nicotine, you know." Neither Isobel nor the puncher smiled at this ancient witticism.
You don't need him, and you won't need him," argued the puncher. "Well, he helps keep Chuckie entertained. With you and him both on the place, she might conclude to stay over the winter, this year." Gowan's mouth straightened to a thin slit. "Better send her to Denver right off." "Look here, Kid," reproved the cowman. "You've had your chance, and you've got it yet.
"You're in luck," congratulated Miss Isobel. She explained to Ashton: "The cattlemen in this county pay fifteen dollars for wolf scalps. That's in addition to the state bounty." Ashton sprang off to offer her his hand. But she was on the ground as soon as he. Gowan stared at him between narrowed lids, and replied to the girl somewhat shortly: "I didn't get him this time, Miss Chuckie."
He handed over half a dozen thinly padded envelopes. Gowan was already at the door, hat in hand. "Good night, Mr. Knowles. Good night, Miss Chuckie. Pleasant dreams!" he said. "Same to you, Kid!" replied the girl. "May I give and receive the same?" asked Ashton. "Of course," she answered. "But wait a moment, please. I've some letters to go, myself, if you'll kindly take them with Daddy's."
Knowles listened without comment, his leathery face stolid, but his eyes glinting. When Blake had finished, he remarked shortly: "Must be the same man. Let's see those shells." Blake handed over the two empty cartridge shells. "Thirty-eight," confirmed Knowles. "Same as were fired at Lafe before. Kid and Chuckie showed me how a thirty-eight fitted the hole in Lafe's silver flask.
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