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"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Pertell. "All you have to do is to keep the wheel steady." The company of players, with a number of men from Elk Lodge, added to fill the bobs, now divided themselves into two parties. Ruth was to go on the sled with Mr. Sneed, and sit directly behind him so as to show well in the camera. Alice was to ride next to Paul on the other sled.
"You must be mistaken. Good gracious, I am worth ten times what old Sneed is. Not good enough? Why, my name on a cheque is " "It isn't a question of cheques, papa," wailed the girl; "it's a question of society. I was a painter's model before I married Ed., and, no matter how rich I am, society won't have anything to do with me."
The jury relapsed into silence and rode steadily on. The true raw material of contradiction lay in three younger men among the spectators, contumacious, vehement, and, albeit opposed to the road, much inclined to spoke the wheel of old Persimmon Sneed, however that wheel might revolve.
"Well, that's something for a start," remarked Alice, as she walked the deck with Ruth. "Yes, I knew something would happen," spoke Mr. Sneed, gloomily. "I felt it coming." "How could you?" asked Paul, winking at Russ. "Because to-day is Friday. Something always happens on Friday." "Yes, we generally have fish for dinner," remarked Russ, with a twinkle in his eyes.
Bartley and Cheyenne were in the living-room that evening talking with the Senator and his wife. Out in the bunk-house those of the boys who had not left for the line shack were discussing horse-thieves in general and Panhandle and Sneed in particular. Bill Smalley, a saturnine member of the outfit, who seldom said anything, and who was a good hand but a surly one, made a remark.
"We're in the same business ourselves, only this time we got the hot end of the poker. But he played it low down on me, pretending to be friendly and all that." The two men did not speak again until the carriage drew up at the brown stone mansion, which earlier in the day Sneed would have called his own.
The town marshal took the hint. Scott assured the marshal that, if Sneed or his men made any trouble in San Andreas, he would gladly come over and help the marshal establish peace. Cheyenne's name was not mentioned. An hour later Scott appeared in front of the hotel with his burros packed. Bartley, loafing on the veranda, rose and stepped out.
No campin' in the brush for me while Sneed is ridin' the country lookin' for his stock. It wouldn't be healthy."
There was sauerkraut for supper that night, and the German actor certainly ate enough to ward off any possible illness. And, in spite of the rather homely character of the hotel, the meal was an excellent one, and the moving picture players were more comfortable in the matter of rooms than they had expected. About the only ones to find fault were Miss Pennington, Miss Dixon, and Mr. Sneed.
"Where you headed?" queried Sneed. "Me, I'm lookin' for Bill Sneed's cabin. You ain't Sneed, are you?" "Yes, I'm Sneed." "Well, I'm in luck. I'm Cheyenne Hastings." "That don't buy you nothin' around here. What do you want to see me about?" "Why, I done lost a couple of hosses the other night. I reckon somethin' stampeded 'em, for they never strayed far from camp before.
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