"If the sheriff's looking for me," she said, "tell him I have a room in the hotel. He can find me here."
Pop shook hands before he shoved the register toward her. "My kids will sure be glad to see you safe back," he said. "And I'm glad, too, Jig."
Nodding, she turned to sign her name in the bold, free hand which she had cultivated. She could feel the crowd staring behind her, and she could hear their murmurs. But she was not nervous. It seemed that all apprehension had left her.
"Where's Cartwright?" she asked.
"Sitting in a game of poker."
"Hello, Buddy!" she called to a redheaded youngster. "Go in and tell
Cartwright that I'm waiting for him in my room, will you?"
"Ain't no use," said Pop, staring at this new and more masculine Jig. "Cartwright is all heated up about the game. And he's lost enough to get anybody excited. He won't come. Better go in there if you want to see him."
"I'll try my luck this way," said Jig coldly. "Run along, Buddy."
Buddy obeyed, and Jig went up the stairs to her room.
"What come over him?" asked the crowd, the moment Cold Feet was out of sight. "Looks like he's growed up in a day!"