“She says it’s about as serious as the sting of a bee, and won’t hurt much longer than that would, and will be cured nearly as soon.”
“That’s first-rate, and relieves my conscience, which has been troubling me, because I’d much rather smite a man on the ear with my fist than with a bullet. For the same reason I hope you found your messmates undergoing a spasm of common sense.”
“They agreed with me that it wasn’t very healthy to take outdoor exercise for a while. If we decide to begin fighting again, we’ll give you twelve hours’ notice. Will that suit you?”
“I don’t know that it does, quite. I want you to promise that you will not break loose either until Mr. Armstrong returns, or the auction is over.”
“The boys wouldn’t agree to that, Mr. Stranleigh. We’re bound to attend that auction.”
Stranleigh sighed.
“Very good,” he conceded. “I must content myself with what you offer. I accept your proposal, for I feel certain that Mr. Armstrong will return before the ranch is sold. So good-bye. Give my love to the boys.”
Stranleigh watched the retreating figure until it disappeared into the bunk house. A moment later the perforated door was drawn shut, and then he rolled up the bedclothes into a bundle, and deposited it at the further end of the cavern. This done, he took his rifle under his arm, crossed the barricade, and strolled down to the farm-house. Miss Armstrong greeted him with surprise.
“I thought you had gone to New York,” she said.