The Sheriff's Son
Dave answered for her. "Is n't she always on the job when she's needed? Yore fairy godmother—that's what Miss Beulah Rutherford is. Rode hell-for-leather down here to haid off that coyote there—and done it, too. Bumped into me at the water-hole and I hopped on that Blacky hawss behind her. He brought us in on the jump and Sharp's old reliable upset Meldrum's apple cart."
Still nursing the tips of his tingling fingers, the ex-convict scowled venomously at Beulah. "I 'll remember that, missie. That's twice you 've interfered with me. I sure will learn you to mind yore own business."
Dingwell looked steadily at him. "We 've heard about enough from you. Beat it! Hit the trail! Pull yore freight! Light out! Vamos! Git!"
The man-killer glared at him. For a moment he hesitated. He would have liked to try conclusions with the cattleman to a fighting finish, but though he had held his own in many a rough-and-tumble fray, he lacked the unflawed nerve to face this man with the cold gray eye and the chilled-steel jaw. His fury broke in an impotent curse as he slouched away.
"I don't understand yet," pursued Roy.
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