"Every blamed one," said Shorty Smith. "How 'n blazes did that happen?"
"I reckon you didn't put that peg in right," drawled Long Bill.
"Look!" screamed old Peter, pointing at the large cow that had come nearer and had picked out from the assortment of calves one of which it claimed absolute possession. It was at this unfortunate moment that Livingston, quite unobserved, rode into Peter's basin.
"I'll help you drive them in," volunteered Hope, instantly mounting her horse and riding into their midst. Then a queer thing followed. Old Peter, with a cat-like motion, sprang toward her and covered her with a six-shooter.
"Git off'n my place, you she-devil!" he cried, his face livid with rage and fear.
"Good God, don't shoot, you fool!" cried Shorty Smith, while Long Bill made a stride toward the frenzied old man.
Livingston's heart stood still. He was some distance away and, as usual, unarmed. For an instant he stopped short, paralyzed by the sight. Then the girl wheeled her horse suddenly about as if to obey the command. As she did so a report rang out and old Peter, with the flesh ripped from wrist to elbow, rolled over in a convulsed heap. It was all so sudden that it seemed unreal. Hope sat on her quivering horse, motionless, serene, holding in her hand a smoking revolver.
Long Bill and his companion stood like statues, dumfounded for the instant, but Livingston, with a bound, was at the girl's side, his face white, his whole being shaken.
"Thank God!" he cried in great tenderness. "You are all right!"
"What made you come here?" she exclaimed in sudden nervousness, which sounded more like impatience.