“It certainly could have if it tried the same tricks on Hen’s herd it did on mine,” responded the owner of the Double Cross. “But, don’t start in imagining things, Amy. A man gets trouble enough on a ranch without worrying and fretting about what may or might happen.”
“That’s just what Hen says,” rejoined Mrs. Hawks. “It’s easy enough for you men folks to live up to that. You have so many things to keep you busy, you don’t have the time to think. But with us women, it’s different. Having nobody but you to take up our minds, we just can’t help being afraid something may happen to you. I know it’s that way with me about Hen, and I guess it is with Sarah about you.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” assented her neighbor. “But just remember, worry doesn’t do anybody any good—and generally makes you nervous and cross.” And with this parting shot, the owner of the Double Cross, having finished his dinner, arose and went out doors, followed by his cowboys.
“Man, dear! but ain’t she the old spitfire!” chuckled Deadshot, as they gained the yard, taking care, however, to make sure that the woman was not within earshot when he spoke. “I never did have any use for Hen Hawks; but after seeing—and listening to—his running mate, I certainly am sorry for him.”
“Well, he probably wouldn’t thank you for telling him so,” smiled Bowser, his ill-humor disappearing under the combined effect of the good dinner, his pipe and the cowboy’s comment upon the garrulity of Mrs. Hawks.
Further pursuit of the topic was prevented, however, by Sandy.
“Don’t it beat all how everything seems to go against us in trailing them cattlelifters?” he asked. “First, we couldn’t pick up their track. Then we couldn’t overhaul ’em, and now we’ve got to lose more time waiting for reinforcements before starting out again. It sure does look as though we were in for trouble all along the line.”
“So you’re beginning to wake up, are you?” chuckled Deadshot. “Didn’t I say last night, when we came near going loco over that ghostie, that whenever one of ’em appeared, it meant trouble? And didn’t I tell you, after we found it was a raid, that we’d have no easy time running ’em down, as Sam said he was agoing to do?”
The scornful tone in which the cowboy reminded his bunkmate of his prophecies aroused Sandy’s ire.
“Sure you did. But you say so many things that ain’t no account, a feller sort of has to see for himself before he can agree with you.”