“The fact is, this heah ranch is a different place since you came,” went on Texas.
With jingling spurs a tall cowboy stalked out of the post-office toconfront his three comrades crossing the wide street from the saloonopposite. “Look heah,” he said, shoving a letter under their noses.“Which one of you long-horns has wrote her again?”
From a gay, careless trio his listeners suddenly grew blank, thenintensely curious. They stared at the handwriting on the letter. “Tex,I’m a son-of-a-gun if it ain’t from Missouri!” ejaculated Andy Smith,his lean, red face bursting into a smile.
“It shore is,” declared Nevada.
“From Missouri!” echoed Panhandle Ames.
“Wal?” queried Tex, almost with a snort.
The three cowboys jerked up to look from Tex to one another, and thenback at Tex.
“It’s from her,” went on Tex, his voice hushing on the pronoun. “Youall know thet handwritin’. Now how aboot this deal? We swore none ofus would write again to this heah schoolmarm. Some one of you hasdouble-crossed the outfit.” Loud and unified protestations ofinnocence emanated from his comrades. But it was evident Tex did nottrust them, and that they did not trust him or each other. “Say,boys,” said Panhandle, suddenly. “I see Beady in there lookin’ darnsharp at us. Let’s get off in the woods somewhere.”
“Back to the bar,” replied Nevada. “I reckon we’ll all needstimulants.”
“Beady!” ejaculated Tex, as they turned across the street. “He couldbe to blame as much as any of us.”
“Shore. It’d be more like Beady,” replied Nevada. “But Tex, yore mindain’t workin’. Our lady friend from Missouri has wrote before withoutgettin’ any letter from us.”
“How do we know thet?” demanded Tex, suspiciously. “Shore the boss’typewriter is a puzzle, but it could hide tracks. Savvy, pards?”
“Gee, Tex, you need a drink,” returned Panhandle, peevishly.
They entered the saloon and strode to the bar, where from allappearances Tex was not the only one to seek artificial strength. Thenthey repaired to a corner, where they took seats and stared at theletter Tex threw down before them. “From Missouri, all right,” averredPanhandle, studying the postmark. “Kansas City, Missouri.”
“It’s her writin’,” added Nevada, in awe. “Shore I’d know thet out ofa million letters.”
“Ain’t you goin’ to read it to us?” queried Andy Smith.
“Mister Frank Owens,” replied Tex, reading from the address on theletter. “Springer’s Ranch. Beacon, Arizona.... Boys, this heah FrankOwens is all of us.”
“Huh! Mebbe he’s a darn sight more,” added Andy.
“Looks like a low-down trick we’re to blame for,” resumed Tex,seriously shaking his hawk-like head. “Heah we reads in a Kansas Citypaper aboot a school teacher wantin’ a job out in dry Arizonie. An’ weups an’ writes her an’ gets her ararin’ to come. Then when she writesand tells us she’s not over forty—then we quits like yellow coyotes.An’ we four anyhow shook hands on never writin’ her again. Wal,somebody did, an’ I reckon you-all think me as big a liar as I thinkyou. But thet ain’t the point. Heah’s another letter to Mister Owensan’ I’ll bet my saddle