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Updated: June 10, 2025
"It's hard telling," Charley said thoughtfully. "Old Heck's the heaviest, but Parker's pretty active." "Well, it sure does seem like wherever women are trouble is, don't it?" Bert observed meditatively. "Blamed if it don't," Charley agreed; "there's something about them that's plum agitating!" Old Heck, riding a short distance ahead of the cowboys, was troubled with similar thoughts.
Sabota stepped quickly forward and with the toe of his shoe kicked the garter toward the bar, where all could see it. "Look what th' Ramblin' Kid's been carrying!" he exclaimed with a coarse laugh. "Some size garter, that!" And guessing at random that it had belonged to Carolyn June, he added: "Old Heck's niece must be damned convenient and accommodating!"
For a long minute Old Heck studied the bill of sale that made him owner of every cow-brute burnt with the Y-Bar brand. "My men will gather the cattle within fifteen days," Dorsey said dully, noting the half-questioning look on Old Heck's face, "or you can send your own crew, just as you please. I suppose you'll meet me half-way and receive the stock in Eagle Butte?" "Can Thunderbolt run?"
When the storm broke over the Quarter Circle KT the Ramblin' Kid was twenty miles away following the Gold Dust maverick. Old Heck's surmise that he had gone in search of the outlaw filly was but half correct.
A withering stream of fire poured from the cloud almost over their heads; it was accompanied by a crashing peal of thunder that rocked the earth under their feet and stopped the words on Old Heck's lips. The flame lighted the whole valley. They had an instant's glimpse of a writhing, overhanging curtain of dust and rain sweeping toward them.
Skinny Rawlins, at an increase of ten dollars a month on his wage, protestingly, was elected official love-maker to Carolyn June Dixon, Old Heck's niece, speeding unsuspectingly toward the Quarter Circle KT, and Old Heck and Parker between them were to divide the affections of Ophelia Cobb, widow and chaperon.
There was a dead hush as the crowd in the pool-room waited for Old Heck's reply to Dorsey's drunken challenge. "We'll kind of remember that invitation, Dorsey," Old Heck said in tones as hard and smooth and cold as ice, while his gray eyes narrowed and bored the boastful cow-man like points of steel, "we'll sort of bear in mind that suggestion of yours.
Her eyes were like pools of liquid blue: "Don't tear it it up!" she whispered with a little laugh a laugh that sent the blood leaping, like fire, through Old Heck's veins, "it it would be a shame to waste it!" For an instant Old Heck was dazed. He looked at her as if he could not believe he had heard aright. Suddenly a wave of undiluted happiness swept over him. "Ophelia!" he cried huskily.
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