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"One of Kate's sheep wagons was blowed up a few nights ago, and there's a story circulatin' that somebody's goin' to shoot up the Outfit." Disston's face wore a frown of concentration. "Teeters," in sudden decision, "I'm going up to see her. She may need us." "But isn't it dangerous?" Mrs. Rathburn protested.
He was sure that no other woman's kiss could so draw the soul out of him. Beth seemed only a shadow like someone long dead whose personality is recalled with an effort. This was love this was the sort of feeling the Creator intended men and women to have for each other mysterious, inexplicable, yet real as Nature. It was as it should be. These thoughts passed through Disston's mind swiftly.
The girl at the fence cried aghast: "Oh, what's she going to do?" Then she clutched Disston's arm and stared in fascinated horror while Kate ear-marked the sheep and released it. "She's barbarous horrible impossible!" "You brought it on yourself, Beth," he reminded her in a low tone. "You goaded her," "And you defend her?" she demanded, furiously. "Take me away from here I'm nauseated!"
There were moments like the present when, with real pleasure, she could have run her needle to the hilt, as it were, in any convenient portion of Disston's anatomy. She seethed with resentment, and took it out upon the climate, the inhabitants, the customs of the country, and Teeters who gave her the careful but unenthusiastic attention he would have given to a belligerent porcupine.
Furthermore, the Casual Passerby a blood relative of the Innocent Bystander would have been apt to notice that this act of Disston's seemed automatically to accelerate the movements of the embroidery needle and the chamois buffer, and speed up the rocking chairs. Propinquity was not doing all that Mrs. Rathburn had anticipated.
It had been done elsewhere successfully, and there was no dearth of accommodations on the place, since there was nothing much to the ranch but the buildings, as Toomey had fenced and broken up only enough land to patent the homestead. Although Teeters was now the ostensible owner, in reality the place belonged to Hughie Disston's father, who had been the heaviest loser in the cattle company.
I'll bet you a saddle blanket against anything you like that you haven't got the sand to take her." "Done!" Hughie Disston's eyes were dancing. "If my nerve fails me when I see her, you are in a new Navajo."
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