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Then they charged like knights in a tournament, and shot at the same moment with their guns. After they had passed each other, and had wheeled, Mahtotohpa held up his powder-horn. The Cheyenne's bullet had smashed it, so that the powder had flowed out.
One and all they were hard-boiled, used to the open, rough-spoken, and indifferent to Cheyenne's presence. Sneed stepped to the kitchen and pulled the coffee-pot to the front of the stove. Finally Cheyenne strolled out to the veranda and seated himself on the long bench near the doorway.
"Was you lookin' for Jimmy's address in that there book?" queried Cheyenne, grinning broadly. Dorothy flushed and glanced at Bartley, who immediately changed the subject by calling attention to Cheyenne's hat. Cheyenne also changed the subject by stating that Jimmy had recently ridden down the trail toward the ranch with some horses. "Then you got your horses?" said Bartley.
"Sneed and his bunch got Panhandle," stated Cheyenne quietly. "Mr. Bartley, here, saw the row. Four of Sneed's men are down. One got away." "Sure it was Sneed?" "I reckon your men will fetch him in, right soon. Panhandle got Sneed and a Mexican, before they stopped him." Colonel Stevenson glanced at Cheyenne's belt and holster. Cheyenne drew his gun and handed it to the marshal.
If he did not, Bartley determined to see much of the country. In so far as influencing Cheyenne in any way that would have to be determined by chance. Bartley felt that his influence with the sprightly Cheyenne weighed very little against Cheyenne's hatred for Panhandle Sears.
Cheyenne's the closest I can get, myself, and Cheyenne's a dead one blowed up, busted worse'n a galvanized Yank with a pocket full o' Confed wall-paper." He yawned. "Guess I'll take forty winks. Was up all night, and a man can stand jest so much, Injuns or no Injuns." "Did you expect to meet with Indians, sir, along the route?" I asked. "Hell, yes.
He saw Cheyenne's horse at the corral. "Me, I dunno what she's doin' on that place. Cheyenne, he's in camp when I'm go. I'm stop by the haystack. I'm see Cheyenne talk to Scotty. That don't look good, you bet." A full week the trial lasted, while the lawyers wrangled over evidence and technicalities, and the judge ruled out evidence and later ruled it in again.
He turned and glanced at Cheyenne. The humorous expression had faded from Cheyenne's face and in its stead there was a sort of grim, speculative line to the mouth, and no twinkle in the blue eyes. Bartley stepped over to the long table and watched the game. Craps, played by these free-handed sons of the open, had more of a punch than he had imagined possible.
The boys were mightily pleased with the stanza, and they also improvised until, according to their versions, Long Lon bore a marked resemblance to a porcupine. Lon, being a real person, felt that Cheyenne's retaliation was just.
Cheyenne crouched tense, and then made a rush. A slug sang past his head. Heat palpitated in the narrow draw. He gained the opposite bank, dropped, and crawled through the brush and lay panting, close to the trail. From above him somewhere came the note of a bird: Chirr-up! Chirr-up! Again a slug tore through the brush scattering twigs and tiny leaves on Cheyenne's hat.
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