For a month Wolfville saw naught of Riley Bent. He was supposed to be two-score miles away on the range with his cattle. Wagon Mound Sal, with a trace of grimness about the mouth, conducted her laundry, and, in the absence of competition, waxed opulent. She looked confidently for the return of Riley Bent; as what woman, knowing her spells and powers, would have not.
At last he came. Sal, as well as Wolfville, learned of his presence by a mellow whoop at the far end of the single street. Sal was subsequently gratified by a view of him as he and a comrade, one Rice Hoskins, slid from their saddles and entered the Red Light Saloon.
Wagon Mound Sal was offended at this; he should have come straight to her. But beyond slamming her irons unreasonably as she replaced them on the range, she made no sign.
To give Riley Bent justice, he had done little during the month of his absence save think of Wagon Mound Sal. Whether he pursued the evanescent steer, or organised the baking powder biscuit of his day and kind, Wagon Mound Sal ran ever in his thoughts like a torrent. But he couldn't bring himself to the notion of a wife; not even if that favoured woman were Wagon Mound Sal.
“Seems like bein' married that a-way,” he explained to Rice Hoskins, as they discussed the business about their camp-fire, “is so onnacheral.”
“That's whatever!” assented Rice Hoskins.
“But,” said Riley Bent after a pause; “I reckon I'd better ride in an' tell her she don't get me none, an' end the game.”
“That's whatever!”
It was deference to this view which gained Wolfville the pleasure of the presence of Riley Bent and Rice Hoskins on the occasion named. It had been Riley Bent's plan—having first acquired what stimulant he might crave—to leave Rice Hoskins to the companionship of the barkeeper, while he repaired briefly to Wagon Mound Sal, and expressed a determination never to wed. But after the first drink he so far modified the programme as to decide, instead, to write a letter.
“You see!” he said, “writin' a letter shows a heap more respect. An' then ag'in, if I goes personal, she might get all wrought up an' lay for me permiscus a whole lot.”