A SCURRY COUNTY WOOING
all, I reckon Remington would cow down without shootin' if he was told that the boss of Scurry County had reckoned that Mamie Griggs wasn't for export, but for home consumption. Jerome ought to go to him and talk to him straight. I reckon he would, only he's scared his gun would go off of itself. But Jerome's a good boy, so he is, and it's mighty hard he's fitted with a father that don't believe in natur'. My ole Dad ain't that sort. By gosh! I think I'll see Remington myself. I ain't scared of him, nor of no father, nor of my gun. I'll take him on the way to Mary's, so I will. He's a bit of a lawyer. Well, I'll tell him law ain't no sech property out here."
He dropped down from the prairie and saw Painted Rock shining in the sun by its river and its sand-dunes. In another ten minutes he loped on his broncho into the town, and pulled up on South Street, outside a pretentious, brick-fronted building of which all the rest but the front was of wood. He hitched his pony to a post and slouched into Mr. Remington's office. He found his man
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