"That's far enough," said a crisp voice, pleasant in timbre even though business-like and angry. "Haven't I told you punchers to keep off this ranch?"
"Never to my knowledge, Ma'am," he answered.
"Have you the brazen effrontery to sit there and calmly tell me that?"
"I don't know, Ma'am; but I never heard about no such orders."
"Who are you? Where do you come from? What are you doing here?"
Johnny smiled apologetically. "Fifteen hundred shore would strain that gun. Ma'am. An' mostly a shot wasted is worse than none at all. I'm here to offer you one that bites hard at that distance, 'though I can't say I generally recommend it for ladies—it kicks powerful hard, heavy as it is."
"Answer my questions. Who are you?"
"A stranger, Ma'am; a pilgrim, seekin' what I can devour. But now it's nearer sixteen hundred," he suggested, lowering a hand to get the Sharp's from its sheath under his leg.
"That will do!" she warned. "The range which interests me is ten yards. You may rest them on your hat," she conceded.
He locked his fingers over his head and grinned. "Why, I'm a rollin' stone from Montanny, Ma'am. So far I've rolled into trouble all th' way, an' it looks like I'm still a-rollin'. I want to apologize for bustin' up your party—they've done faded."