He tapped his forehead significantly. "I'm so used to carrying one that I forgot. Shucks, that's too bad. Well, if we overtake any wild cans you can use mine, although a smaller gun would be more pleasant for you. Too bad you haven't a short-barreled gun--a .32, for instance. Shooting is really great sport. Then I'm to call at two o'clock?"
"If there was some place where we could enjoy a lunch," she murmured. "We could leave earlier and get back earlier."
"There is sure to be," assured Tex, smiling. "Say ten o'clock, then?"
"That will be much better. I'll have everything ready when you come. Is there anything in the eating line which you particularly fancy?"
Tex fanned himself with the sombrero, a happy expression on his face. "Yes, there is," he admitted. "Mallard duck stuffed with Chesapeake oysters. Plenty of cold, crisp, tender celery, and any really good brand of dry champagne. I'll enjoy anything you prepare, and I'll have a round-up appetite."
"I'll try to give you a change from hotel food," she laughed as he swung into the saddle.
She watched him ride away and walked slowly back to the house. Then her face brightened a little as she thought of the revolver in Jerry's room. Jerry had said it was a .38.
The station agent answered the hail and went out to the edge of the platform.
"All fixed?" he asked.
Tex nodded. "You get her to bring that gun. I paved the way for it, but you know her better than I do, and how to persuade her without making her frightened. What's it shoot: longs, or shorts? That's good; shorts are O.K. Is Murphy in th' toolshed?"