The Sheriff's Son
With the same motion the girl had learned in roping cattle she flung the slicker over his head. Her weight on the left stirrup, she threw her arms about him and drew the oil coat tight.
"Run, Chet!" she cried.
Fox was off like a flash.
Hampered by his rifle, Dave could use only one hand to free himself. The Rutherford girl clung as if her arms had been ropes of steel. Before he had shaken her off, the runaway was a hundred yards down the road galloping for dear life.
Dave raised his gun. Beulah struck the barrel down with her quirt. He lowered the rifle, turned to her, and smiled. His grin was rueful but friendly.
"You 're a right enterprising young lady for a schoolmarm, but I would n't have shot Chet, anyhow. The circumstances don't warrant it."
She swung from the saddle and picked her coat out of the mud where it had fallen. Her lithe young figure was supple as that of a boy.
"You 've spoiled my coat," she charged resentfully.
The injustice of this tickled him. "I 'll buy you a new one when we get to town," he told her promptly.
40
