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Updated: May 9, 2025
For some days the trail between the McKinstrys' ranch and the school-house was lightly patrolled by reliefs of susceptible young men, to whom the enfranchised Cressida, relieved from the dangerous supervision of the Davis-McKinstry clique, was an object of ambitious admiration.
There was a pause, and then began the usual Homeric chaff, with this Western difference that it was cunningly intended to draw the other's fire. "Why don't you blaze away at the door, you ! It won't hurt ye!" "He's afraid the bolt will shoot back!" Laughter from the McKinstrys. "Come outer the tall grass and show yourself, you black, mud-eating gopher." "He can't.
There was also a growing and influential party of Eastern and Northern men, who were not sorry to see a fruitful source of dissension and bloodshed removed. The feuds of the McKinstrys and Harrisons, kept alive over a boundary to which neither had any legal claim, would seem to bring them hereafter within the statute law regarding ordinary assaults without any ethical mystification.
He kept steadily along the trail that followed the line of fence to the lane that led directly to the farm-building, and pushed open the front gate as Cressy's light dress vanished round an angle at the rear of the house. The house of the McKinstrys rose, or rather stretched, itself before him, in all the lazy ungainliness of Southwestern architecture.
A sudden angry fear that the McKinstrys had been beaten off and were flying a fear and anger that now for the first time identified him with their cause came over him, and he scrambled quickly towards the opening below. But the sound was approaching and with it came a voice. "Hold on there, sheriff!" It was the voice of the agent Stacey. There was a pause of reluctant murmuring.
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