But the cowpuncher held the gun now.
The crook glared at him for a moment, and bolted for the safety of the
bushes in wild flight.
Johnnie fired once, then forgot all about the private little war he had
started. For his arms were full of a sobbing Kitty who clung to him
while she wept and talked and exclaimed all in a breath.
"I knew you'd come, Johnnie. I knew you would--you or Clay. They left
me here with him while they got away from the police. . . . Oh, I've
been so scared. I didn't know--I thought--"
"'S all right. 'S all right, li'l' girl. Don't you cry, Kitty. Me
'n' Clay won't let 'em hurt you none. We sure won't."
"They said they'd come back later for me," she wept, uncertain whether
to be hysterical or not.
"I wisht they'd come now," he bragged valorously, and for the moment he
did.
She nestled closer, and Johnnie's heart lost a beat. He had become
aware of a dull pain in the shoulder and of something wet trickling
down his shoulder. But what is one little bullet in your geography
when the sweetest girl in the world is in your arms?
"I ain't nothin' but a hammered-down li'l' hayseed of a cowpuncher," he
told her, his voice trembling, "an' you're awful pretty an'--an'--"
A flag of color fluttered to her soft cheeks. The silken lashes fell
shyly. "I think you're fine and dandy, the bravest man that ever was."
"Do you--figure you could--? I--I--I don't reckon you could ever--"
He stopped, abashed.
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