A Texas Ranger | Page 5

after they were seated.
She emptied it and handed the roll of bills it contained to the owner of
the team. He looked at it and at her, then shook his head.
"You'll need it likely. I reckon I can trust you. Schoolmarms are mostly
reliable."
"I had rather pay now," she answered tartly.

"What's the rush?"
"I prefer to settle with you now."
"All right, but I'm in no sweat for my money. My team and the wagon
are worth two hundred and fifty dollars. Put this plug at forty and it
would be high." He jerked his head toward the brush where the other
saddle-horse was. "That leaves me a balance of about two hundred and
ten. Is that fair?"
She bit her lip in vexation. "I expect so, but I haven't that much with me.
Can't I pay this seventy on account?"
"No, ma'am, you can't. All or none." There was a gleam of humor in his
hard eyes. "I reckon you better let me come and collect after you get
back to Fort Lincoln."
She took out a note-book and pencil. "If you will give me your name
and address please."
He smiled hardily at her. "I've clean forgotten them."
There was a warning flash in her disdainful eye.
"Just as you like. My name is Margaret Kinney. I will leave the money
for you at the First National Bank."
She gathered up the rains deftly.
"One moment." He laid a hand on the lines. "I reckon you think I owe
you an apology for what happened when we first met."
A flood of spreading color dyed her cheeks. "I don't think anything
about it."
"Oh, yes, you do," he contradicted. "And you're going to think a heap
more about it. You're going to lay awake nights going over it."
Out of eyes like live coals she gave him one look. "Will you take your

hands from these reins please?"
"Presently. Just now I'm talking and you're listening."
"I don't care to hear any apologies, sir," she said stiffly.
"I'm not offering any," he laughed, yet stung by her words.
"You're merely insulting me again, I presume?"
"Some young women need punishing. I expect you're one."
She handed him the horsewhip, a sudden pulse of passion beating
fiercely in her throat. "Very well. Make an end of it and let me see the
last of you," she challenged.
He cracked the lash expertly so that the horses quivered and would
have started if his strong hand had not tightened on the lines.
The Westerner laughed again. "You're game anyhow."
"When you are quite through with me," she suggested, very quietly.
But he noticed the fury of her deep-pupiled eyes, the turbulent rise and
fall of her bosom.
"I'll not punish you that way this time." And he gave back the whip.
"If you won't use it I will."
The lash flashed up and down, twined itself savagely round his wrist,
and left behind a bracelet of crimson. Startled, the horses leaped
forward. The reins slipped free from his numbed fingers. Miss Kinney
had made her good-by and was descending swiftly into the valley.
The man watched the rig sweep along that branch of the road which led
to the south. Then he looked at his wrist and laughed.
"The plucky little devil! She's a thoroughbred for fair. You bet I'll make

her pay for this. But ain't she got sand in her craw? She's surely hating
me proper." He laughed again in remembrance of the whole episode,
finding in it something that stirred his blood immensely.
After the trap had swept round a curve out of sight he disappeared in
the mesquite and bear-grass, presently returning with the roan that had
been ridden by the escaped convict.
"Whoever would suppose she was the sister of that scurvy scalawag
with jailbird branded all over his hulking hide? He ain't fit to wipe her
little feet on. She's as fine as silk. Think of her going through what she
is to save that coyote, and him as crooked as a dog's hind leg. There
ain't any limit to what a good woman will do for a man when she thinks
he's got a claim on her, more especially if he's a ruffian."
With this bit of philosophic observation he rolled a cigarette and lit it.
"Him fall into bad company and be led away?" he added in disgust.
"There ain't any worse than him. But he'll work her to the limit before
she finds it out."
Leisurely he swung to the saddle and rode down into the valley of the
San Xavier, which rolled away from his feet in numberless tawny
waves of unfeatured foot-hills and mesas and washes. Almost as far as
the eye could see there stretched a sea