“Now, yuh darned tadpoles, will yuh believe what I tole yuh? Yuh know darn well that girl don’t lie!” Kansas cried. He gazed after Snippets gratefully, for, if the truth be known, his cinch had not broken; that had been his alibi for the greatest disgrace that can happen to a puncher—to have a broken horse throw him and leave him afoot.
“She’s sure a swell gal,” Tad Hicks said admiringly.
“She’s more like a fellow than a gal, an’ she sure rides like one,” Windy agreed.
The three women passed on down the platform. When they reached Toothpick and the sheriff, Snippets stopped and stared at the tall cowboy.
“Why, Snip,” Mary giggled. “Are you in love with Toothpick? You’re blushing.”
Snippets did not heed her. When Toothpick failed to see her she plucked at his sleeve.
“Toothpick?” Her greeting was a question.
The lanky cow-puncher swung about and snatched off his hat. He had known Snippets ever since she was a child. Then he had worked for her father up North.
“’Lo, kid,” he greeted.
“Did yuh see him?” she asked in an eager whisper.