“I’m plumb glad to know yuh,” he said. “My name’s Skidmore, an’ I’ve just come from the Bar T. I take pitchers, I do—yessir, the best in the business; an’ if yuh don’t believe me, just look at these.”
From somewhere in his saddle-bags Skidmore whipped out two photographs and handed them to Bissell.
There, looking at him, sat Martha, in some of her long-unused finery, and Juliet, the daughter who had until now been the greatest blessing of his life.
Bissell started back as though he had seen a ghost, so excellent and speaking were the likenesses. 274
“Yes, they asked me to come an’ take one of yuh, Mr. Bissell,” went on the photographer.
“They did?” snapped Beef suspiciously. “How’d they know where I was?”
“Stelton told ’em. I was there when he got home.”
“Oh, yes—Stelton, of course,” apologized the owner. “How d’ye take the blame things? With that contraption yuh’ve got there?”
“Yes, and I think there is still light enough for me to get you!” cried Skidmore, snatching his outfit from the back of his horse and starting hurriedly to set it up.
By this time quite a crowd had gathered, some of whom had never seen a camera in operation, and none of whom had seen such pictures as Skidmore was able to pass around.