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Engle, had no way of knowing whether the withdrawal had been by mutually spontaneous desire or whether the initiative had been the sheriff's or Miss Engle's. Not that it mattered or concerned her in any slightest particular. In her hand was the note of introduction she had brought from Mrs.
Del Rio with a score of men, Mexicans for the most part who had dribbled into the county during the last few months, was reported to have swept down upon John Engle's ranches, and to be gathering herds of cattle and horses, starting them southward on the run. Three of Engle's cowboys had been shot down; a similar attack had been delivered upon other ranches.
She had supported him until now, asking nothing of him in return save that he kept out of mischief a certain percentage of the time. Now he was going to work and help out. He could go to John Engle and get something to do upon one of Engle's ranches. Somewhat to her surprise Elmer responded eagerly. He had been thinking the matter over and it appealed to him.
"Oh, all right," said the Kid, "if that's the way you feel about it but maybe I've got some information I could trade you for it." "I never swapped hosses blind," said Old Man Curry. "I won't ask you to," said the Bald-faced Kid. "It's no news that Engle's bunch is out for your scalp, is it?" "No-o," said the old man. "I kind of suspicioned as much." "They're after you strong, old-timer.
Had she so unquestioningly done as he had requested because he was the sheriff who represented the law? or because he was Roderick Norton who stood for fine, upstanding manhood? . . . Again she felt Florence Engle's eyes fixed upon her. "Florence is prepared at the beginning to dislike me," she thought. "Why? Just because I walked with him from the hotel?" In the heat of an argument with Mrs.
Bickford thought he would try painting the white, silken fur of Mizzi: the result not only surprised him but also his artist friends, who said, "Lambert himself could not have done better." Upon Miss Engle's return, seeing what an inspiration her cat had been, she gave her to Mr. Bickford, and it is needless to add that he has become deeply attached to his beautiful model.
Later came the big wagon, one of Engle's men driving, Ignacio Chavez and two other Mexicans accompanying on horseback. Virginia had forgotten nothing. Quick hands did her bidding now, altering the anteroom of the King's Palace into a big airy bedroom.
Jockey Merritt, wearing Engle's colours, stood in the paddock stall eyeing Eliphaz and listening to the whispered instructions of the new owner. "Get him away flying, jock, and never look back. He's a fast breaker. Keep him in front all the way, but don't win too far." "Bettin' much on him?" asked Merritt. "Not a nickel. He opened at even money and they played him to 4 to 5.
Engle's voice crying eagerly; "It's Roddy!" She was hurrying to greet him. What he had to say must be said briefly. "My work is done," he said quickly. "I have put in my resignation this afternoon. They can get a new sheriff. I am going to be a rancher, my dear. And, Virginia . . ." He was whispering to her, his lips close to her hair.
O'Connor laughed unpleasantly. He resented Engle's easy and arrogant assumption of mental superiority, and was thankful for a chance to remind The Sharpshooter of one skirmish in which all the honours had gone to Old Man Curry. "G'wan, run him up like you did Elisha," said O'Connor. "Grab him out of a selling race.
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