It's a cinch he ain't through with me yet."
"Say, Clay, ain't you gettin' homesick for the whinin' of a rawhide?
Wha's the matter with us hittin' the dust for good old Tucson? I'd
sure like to chase cowtails again."
"You can go, Johnnie. I'm not ready yet--quite. And when I go it
won't be because of any rattlesnake in the grass."
"Whadyou mean I can go?" demanded his friend indignantly. "I don't aim
to go and leave you here alone."
"Perhaps I'll be along, too, after a little. I'm about fed up on New
York."
"Well, I'll stick around till you come. If this Jerry Durand's trying
to get you I'll be right there followin' yore dust, old scout."
"There's more than one way to skin a cat. Mebbe the fellow means to
strike at me through you or Kitty. I've a mind to put you both on a
train for the B-in-a-Box Ranch."
"You can put the li'l' girl on a train. You can't put me on none
less'n you go too," answered his shadow stoutly.
"Then see you don't get drawn into any quarrels while you and Kitty are
away from the house. Stick to the lighted streets. I think I'll speak
to her about not lettin' any strange man talk to her."
"She wouldn't talk to no strange man. She ain't that kind," snorted
Johnnie.
"Keep yore shirt on," advised Clay, smiling. "What I mean is that she
mustn't let herself believe the first story some one pulls on her. I
think she had better not go out unless one of us is with her."
"Suits me."
"I thought that might suit you.
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