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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Y'u bet," chuckled Denver. "We're right glad to see you, and I'll bet those boys in the cage ain't regretting your arrival any. Fifteen minutes later and you would have been in time to hold the funeral services, I reckon." "Where is Miss Messiter?" asked the young officer. "She's at the Elk House, colonel. I expect some of us better drift over there and tell her it's all right.
"I'd go if we was fifty to one. We'd 'a' got him, too, if it hadn't been for Miss Messiter. 'Twas a chance we ain't likely to get again for a year." "It wasn't your fault you didn't kill him, Mr. Morgan," she said, looking hard at him. "You may be interested to know that your last shot missed him only about six inches, and me about four." "I didn't know who you were," he sullenly defended.
I wisht they was here, one or both; I wisht they would step up here and fight it out. Bannister's a false alarm, and that foreman of the Lazy D " His tongue stumbled over a blur of vilification that ended with a foul mention of Miss Messiter. Instantly two chairs crashed to the floor. Two pair of gray eyes met quietly. "My quarrel, Bann," said Jim, in a low, even voice. The other nodded.
"They're in that bunch of pines over there," said the foreman, after a single sweep of his eyes in that direction. "Yes, I see they are. You oughtn't to let your boys wear red bandannas when they go gunning, Miss Messiter. It's an awful careless habit." Helen herself could see no sign of life in the group of pines, but she knew their keen, trained eyes had found what hers could not.
"They ce'tainly belong to the Lazy D outfit." "And you say that you shot one of my men yesterday?" He could see her getting ready for a declaration of war. "Down by Willow Creek Yes, ma'am," he answered, comfortably. "And why, may I ask?" she flamed "That's a long story, Miss Messiter. It wouldn't be square for me to get my version in before your boys. Y'u ask them."
A dozen travelers dropped in every day, but this particular one happened to be Ned Bannister. From the stable door a shot rang out. Bannister ducked and shouted genially: "Try again." But Helen Messiter whirled her pony as on a half-dollar, and charged down on the stable. "Who fired that shot?" she demanded, her eyes blazing. The horse-wrangler showed embarrassment.
I shall start for Wyoming on the eighteenth of April." The man of law gasped, explained the difficulties again carefully as to a child, found that he was wasting his breath, and wisely gave it up. Miss Messiter had started on the eighteenth of April, as she had announced.
Messiter, who was called at that time honest Dick Messiter, swore that he had advised his father to make a conveyance of an estate to him, to qualify him, the deed of which was executed only the day before the action was commenced against him.
She ate the sandwiches, he the while watching her with amused sympathy in his swarthy countenance. "You ain't half-bad at the chuck-wagon, Miss Messiter," he told her. She stopped, the sandwich part way to her mouth. "I don't remember your face. I've met so many people since I came to the Lazy D. Still, I think I should remember you." He immediately relieved of duty her quasi apology.
"By both." "That's right strange," he mused aloud. "For judging by some of your ways you're the spinster Miss Messiter was telling me about, but judging by your looks y'u're only the prettiest and sassiest twenty-year-old in Wyoming." And with this shot he fled, to see what transformation he could effect with the aid of a whiskbroom, a tin pan of alkali water and a roller towel.
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