‘I was thinkin’ about it,’ said Lem solemnly. ‘But yore temperature went so danged low that I froze my ears, and now I dunno jist why I wanted to see him.’
‘He didn’t,’ declared Noah. ‘Somebody told him there was a mighty pretty girl over here. Lem would ride miles to investigate a rumor like that. Why, I’ve knowed him to ride a sore-footed horse plumb over to Gila County, and when——’
‘Whoa!’ snorted Lem. ‘That’ll be about all, Noah. Jist kinda calm down until yore vocal cords stop vibratin’, and you’ll feel all right again. You excuse him, ma’am. He’s one of them queer folks who dream things and tells ’em for pers’nal recollections.’
Noah subsided, grinning widely, while Nan leaned against a porch-post and wiped the tears from her eyes. It was the first time she had felt like screaming with laughter since they had moved into the Black Horse range.
A man was riding in from toward Mesa City, and they watched him approach. From the way he swayed in his saddle there was little doubt of his being either drunk or sick. He rode up to the stable, dismounted heavily, and removed his saddle, turning the horse into a corral.
It was Walter Lane, Nan’s brother, whose long, gangling frame had caused him to be known locally as ‘Long.’ He came up to the sheriff, and they noticed that his face was bruised and swollen, one eye having assumed a purplish cast. There was dried blood on his chin, on the front of his shirt, one sleeve of which had been almost torn off at the shoulder.
He eyed the sheriff owlishly.
‘Whazzamatter ’round here?’ he demanded.
‘Not a darn thing,’ grinned Lem.
‘Yea-a-ah?’ He looked at Nan inquiringly. ‘Nothin’s matter, eh?’