"You dear, sweet, old red-headed thing!" she cried; "when did you get back? Where have you been? Where's Jack? Have you seen Echo?" One question was piled upon the other by the enthusiastic girl—Slim had tried to stop her talking that he might answer her, but he might as well have tried to check a sand-storm. Out of breath and puffing, he finally gasped:
"Whoa! whoa! Yes'm. I've heard of them Kansas cyclones, but I ain't never got hit with one afore."
Polly started all over again. "And Jack, did you find him?—tell me all about it."
"See yeah," answered Slim, "I ain't goin' to say nuthin' to nobody till I see Mrs. Payson."
"Oh, pshaw!" pouted Polly; "not even me?"
"Not even—what I've got to say she must heah first. I'm kinder stiff—if you don't mind, I'll set down a spell."
Slim's face was drawn and worn. Although he had lost none of his weight, he showed the effects of the siege of hard riding and fighting through which he had passed.
The mental strain under which he had labored had also worn him down. Polly was more than solicitous for his comfort. Not only did she like the Sheriff, but she was now fencing with him to protect her sweetheart from his wrath. She had concluded that Bud's charge that the Sheriff was locoed and jealous was a cover to conceal some genuine apprehension.
"You look tuckered out," she said.
"Well, I 'low as maybe I am. Been in the saddle for two weeks. Kin I have a cup of coffee?"