He jogs along slow ’till he gits to th’ spring near th’ Rock of Ages, and he swings off to git uh drink. Right there he spies uh letter layin’ near th’ spring under uh bush, and nacherally he picks it up and looks it over.
“Huh!” says he. “Addressed to Jack Elberton, Helena. I reckon Art must ’a’ lost it goin’ out.”
And then like anybody else would, he opens it to see who to send it back to. He reads it through twice, takes off his hat and reads it again. It says:
Mr. Elberton:
In reply to your letter I can say that you’ve got more nerve than a mule. Just because I let you kiss me don’t prove conclusively that I love you. Also your statement (or hint) that I’ve got a perfectly good husband in the land of the living doesn’t feaze me either.
Your threat to come to Piperock to see me is amusing. I’ve made a hit with a big cowboy up here, who would take you apart like a picture puzzle if I said the word. Take my advice, Jackie and forget that you ever knew
Rosalind
Sig looks at th’ letter for uh while and then stares at th’ road. He gits up suddenly and looks at th’ hoss tracks in the road and then hops for his bronc.
“Gosh!” says he. “Th’ stage is past!”
And he spurs up th’ hill and throws th’ quirt into that bronc and fogs th’ hills. He’s plumb miscalculated th’ time, and by racin’ fer three miles across th’ hills he’s got uh chance to cut in ahead of th’ stage.
“Lord A’mighty!” he whoops, when he hits th’ road agin and sees uh cloud uh dust still hangin’ around th’ first turn of th’ road. “Mebby I’ll catch ’em yet. I shore got to do somethin’ to crab this hold-up play! I can’t let Ren take uh chance like this now. Cripes! Mebby Art is lookin’ fer uh play of this kind and he’ll fill Ren full uh buck-shot. Git a-goin’ yuh buzzard-headed, bunch uh coyote bait! If I can git close enough to attract Art’s attention before he drives out of th’ ford, Ren will sabe that somethin’ has gone wrong and keep out-a sight.”
The four hosses of th’ stage had jist finished drinkin’ as Sig races in sight, and as they starts out th’ other side Sig waves his rifle and starts shootin’.
That bronc wasn’t noways gun broke, so it starts sun-fishin’ at th’ first shot and bores straight fer th’ stage. Sig sees Art Miller stand up in his seat and throw th’ whip to his leaders with one hand and fire both barrels of his riot gun with th’ other.