The woman’s next words came impatiently.
“Why isn’t there? Is there a lawyer?”
Beasley grinned. His astonishment was giving place to curiosity and speculation. He tapped the revolver at his hip.
“We’re mostly our own lawyers around here,” he said easily.
But the woman ignored his levity.
“Where can I find one—a lawyer, or sheriff?” she demanded with an added imperiousness.
“Guess Leeson Butte’s nearest.”
The stranger considered a moment. Beasley’s eyes never left her. He had noticed the refinement of her accent, and wondered the more.
“How can I get there—best?” the woman next demanded.
“Guess I ken let you have a team,” Beasley said with alacrity. He smelt good business.