“Some deviltry about their saddles, Miss; that's all!” reported Rawlins to Jess, the pretty girl.
“Isn't it horrible!” shuddered Jess, the pretty girl.
The next morning Jess and the gnarled aunt paid the injured Watkins a visit. This civility affected the other three cowboys invidiously. They at once departed to a line of Cross-K camps in the Northwest. This on a pretence of working cattle over on the Cochise Mesa. They looked black enough as they galloped away.
“Which it's shore a sin Jack Cook ain't no better pistol shot!” observed one, as the acrid picture of Jess, the pretty girl, sympathising above the wounded Watkins, arose before him.
“That's whatever!” assented the others.
Then, in moods of grim hatefulness, they bled their tired ponies with the spur by way of emphasis.