“Don’t you start anything here, Joe Tait,” ordered the postmistress in a shrill voice. She ran out from her cage and confronted the big man indomitably. “You can’t bully me. I’m the United States Government when I’m in this room. Don’t you forget it, either.”
A shadow darkened the doorway, and a young woman came into the store. She stopped, surprised, aware that she had interrupted a scene. Her soft dark eyes passed from one to another, asking information.
There was an awkward silence. The sheepman turned with a half-suppressed oath, snatched up his weapon, thrust it into the holster, and strode from the room. Yet a moment, and the thudding of hoofs could be heard.
The postmistress turned in explanation to the girl. “It’s Joe Tait. He’s always trying to raise a rookus, that man is. But he can’t bully me, no matter how bad an actor he is. I’m not his wife.” She walked around the counter and resumed a dry manner of business. “Do you want all the mail for the Elkhorn Lodge or just your own?”
“I’ll take it all, Mrs. Stovall.”
The young woman handed through the cage opening a canvas bag, into which papers and letters were stuffed.
“Three letters for you, Miss Trovillion,” the older woman said, sliding them across to her.
“You’re good to me to-day.” The girl thanked her with a quick smile.
“I notice I’m good to you most days,” Mrs. Stovall replied with friendly sarcasm.
Ruth Trovillion buckled the mail bag and turned to go. As she walked out of the store her glance flashed curiously over the men. It lingered for a scarcely perceptible instant on McCoy.