"Even that would beat appendicitis clean to death, Belle," maintained Laramie, still listening.
"You've got lots of time," he added, as Lefever looked at his watch.
"I haven't," exclaimed his companion. "I've got to send a message. Come over to the train."
"I've got to write a couple of letters."
"Come over to the station and write your letters."
Laramie shook his head: "I couldn't even get to the station by one o'clock. Every man in Main Street wants to talk about Tom Stone. You'd think I had a million friends among the cattlemen this morning."
"I heard old Barb Doubleday is grinning like a hangman today."
"If Belle's got some ink I'll write my letters right here."
Kate's spirits, which had risen at the hope of being so luckily rid of one who might prove troublesome, fell at his refusal to leave. John urged, but Laramie only asked Belle again for the ink. Lefever tried to coax Belle to go to the train with him. Belle would do almost any fool thing—as John bluntly averred—but this time she must have had pity on Kate and would not leave her unprotected. Lefever went his way. From a shelf near where Kate, with clasped hands, sat in silence Belle took paper and ink in to Laramie and began to clear the table.
At this unlucky moment the front door was opened swiftly and a boy from the butcher shop stuck his head inside.