“You —— fool!” exploded Easton. “I brought a lady here with me; sabe? I came to get that horse and buggy I left here.”
The stable-man stepped outside and glanced across at the empty stall.
“The horse and buggy is gone,” he announced. “If you know where you left the lady, you might look and see if she’s still there or not.”
But Easton exploded a number of vile epithets and staggered away down the street. The stable-man went back, looked at Blondy Hagen, blew out the lantern and went outside and shoved the sliding-doors together.
“Too —— much hocus-pocus to suit me!” he grunted, and went home.
It was in the small hours of the morning when Mrs. Frosty Snow awoke from a troubled sleep—wherein she had fired Swede Sam in three languages—and sat up in bed. Frosty was on a cattle-buying trip, and Mrs. Snow was all alone in the ranch-house.
Some one was knocking urgently on the front door. She crawled out of bed, picked up a heavy Colt six-shooter, and padded her way to the front door.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“This is Hashknife Hartley, Mrs. Snow.”