“And if I croak on the road over the Governor’ll stop payment on the check,” said Jerry facetiously.
“Well, unless you get busy with that little gun of yours and somebody puts another hole through you on the way,” the doctor assured him, “I’ll make it to the bank door with a perfectly good check in my hand.”
Young Boyle held out his hand in farewell, his face suddenly sober and serious.
“The gun has been cached,” said he. “I promised mother I’d never sling it on a man again, and I’m going to stick to it. I’m going to get a bill put through the Legislature making it a felony to pack one, if it can be done. I’m cured, Doctor, in more ways than one.”
The cavalcade moved off down the winding road. Agnes was ablaze with indignation.
“The idea of that man going back on his solemn word, given in the very presence of death!”
“Never mind; that’s the way he made his money, I suppose,” said the doctor. “I’ve got more out of it than I ever expected to get without a row, and I’m going to make a line for that bank in Cheyenne and get the money on his check before he changes his mind. He may get to thinking before he gets home that Jerry isn’t worth ten thousand dollars.”
As they rode up to the rise of the hill, Agnes reined in and stopped. 351
“Here is where we changed places on the coach that day when Smith thought there was going to be a fight,” she recalled.
“Yes, this is the place,” he said, looking around with a smile. “Old Hun Shanklin was up here spying out the land.”