"What rule?"
"That a visitor is always welcome. Have they been pulling my leg in that, too?"
Dakota thought over that a moment. His dislike for the little editor since the shooting-up scene, as well as for any visitor to the ranch, inclined him to kick Stamford off the place. But there was Cockney to reckon with.
"There's nobody here to welcome you—you can see that," he grunted.
"I was noting it," said Stamford quietly.
"Look here, you two-by-four, none o' your insults. This is a mighty big prairie to be alone on of a night ten miles from the next stopping place. There's nicer things for a tenderfoot, I warn you."
"But one of them isn't forcing myself on your society, Dakota Fraley. Yet, at the moment you're my host by proxy; my lips are sealed."
Dakota calmed. He was uncertain of the efficacy of anything but a gun in dealing with insults, but to draw on such a little tenderfoot was not to be thought of.
"Driver coming back?" he asked.
"By the way he galloped away I came to the conclusion he hoped never to have to," smiled Stamford.