A PHOTOGRAPH
On the third morning Beauchamp Lee returned to Mesa—unshaven, dusty, and fagged with hard riding. He brought with him a handbill which he had picked up in the street. Melissy hung over him and ministered to his needs. While he was eating breakfast he talked.
“No luck yet, honey. He’s hiding in some pocket of the hills, I reckon; and likely there he’ll stay till the hunt is past. They don’t make them any slicker than Dunc, dad gum his ugly hide!”
“What is that paper?” his daughter asked.
Lee curbed a disposition toward bad language, as he viewed it with disgust. “This here is bulletin number one, girl. It’s the cheekiest, most impudent thing I ever saw. MacQueen serves notice to all the people of this county to keep out of this fight. Also, he mentions me and Jack Flatray by name—warning us that, if we sit in the game, hell will be popping for us.”
“What will you do?”
“Do? I’ll get back to my boys fast as horseflesh 244 will get me there, once I’ve had a talk with that beef buyer from Kansas City I made an appointment to see before this thing broke loose. You don’t allow I’m going to let any rustler dictate to me what I’ll do and what I won’t—do you?”
“Where do you reckon he had this printed?” she asked.
“I don’t reckon, I know. Late last night a masked man woke up Jim Snell. You know, he sleeps in a room at the back of the printing office. Well, this fellow made him dress, set up this bill, and run off five hundred copies while he stood over him. I’ll swan I never heard of such cheek!”
Melissy told what she had to tell—after which her father shaved, took a bath, and went out to meet the buyer from Kansas City. His business kept him until noon. After dinner Melissy’s saddle horse was brought around, and she joined her father to ride back with him for a few miles.