take care of herself, and knew she could do it, I guess. He never would 'a' been able to overtake the feller, anyhow. He was a cow-puncher from up north of here somewhere, in with some cattle to load. He drawed his time and lit out inside of thirty minutes. I never heard of anybody else gittin' fresh with that girl since then. They seem to kind of pass the word along."
"Very good," Hall approved.
"Yes, that made a name and a fame for 'Lisabeth out here west of Dodge."
"Was that the only wild scrape you ever heard of her being mixed up in?"
"The only shootin' scrape I ever heard of her bein' in. But she's rairin' to mix up in 'em every time she hears a gun pop. I've seen that girl come a ridin' in here with a gang of cow-punchers off the range when the old man was in the cattle business, whoopin' and hollerin' as loud as any of 'em, racin' 'em down Custer Street to the depot and back to the square, kickin' up dust till you'd think a cyclone'd struck town. What do you call that if it ain't wild?"
"Youthful spirits, I'd say. So you think she pegged old Gus through the arm last night, do you, Jim?"
"I'd nearly bet a dime it was her," Jim replied, with something of his native insolence, so contemptuously shown in the first days of Hall's dealings with him, carefully suppressed under a sham of familiar friendliness lately, which Hall accepted for what it was worth.
"Maybe you're right," Hall acceded, thinking it best to let the question stand for answer from another source.
Jim was not inclined to let go of a thing that gave him so much pleasure. He went over the ground of last night's
