cried Lefever with flashing eyes, "a country
where you can't see a damned thing in any direction for a hundred and
fifty miles!"

Though talking vigorously he was eating, without protest from Laramie,
everything in sight. Kate could not help listening; Lefever's high
spirits were contagious.

"Jim," came next between mouthfuls. "What was that story about you
being up at the Junction the day I wanted you to serve those papers on
old Barb Doubleday?"

"I went up there that day because I had business of a different kind
with Barb."

"About the wire ripping, yes. But I heard you got sewed up by a skirt
and didn't talk wire to Barb at all."

"No more of that, John."

"What was there to it?"

"I guess there was."

"A ride or something--what?"

"Something, John."

"Thunder! It must have been the ride. I had a deputy marshalship all
lined up for you if that hadn't happened. And believe me, boy, a
deputy marshalship isn't lying around loose every day!"

Kate listened keenly for Laramie's comment:

"The ride was worth the price, John," was all he said.

"Some skirt, eh?"

Laramie squirmed and with an expletive protested:

"Hang it, John----"

"No matter, no matter. I'll get it all from Belle some day. And after
you get through with your wire thieves we'll tell the story of your
brief romance----"

"Over my grave."

"Right, Jim--over your grave."

"John," Laramie ran on, "do you remember that song Tommie Meggeson used
to sing on the round-up--a pretty little thing. It had one good line
in it: 'Death comes but once, and then, sometimes--too late.'"

Belle appeared with a vegetable: "It won't keep you waiting an awful
while if things go on the way they're going now," she put in grimly.

"That was a good song," mused Laramie, "a good old song." But he heard
a slight sound in the kitchen and his eyes were turned toward the
archway.

"Just the same that song won't keep you from getting killed," persisted
Belle.

"Even that would beat appendicitis clean to death, Belle," maintained
Laramie, still listening.

"You've got lots of time," he added, as Lefever looked at his watch.

"I haven't," exclaimed his companion. "I've got to send a message.
Come over to the train."

"I've got to write a couple of letters."

"Come over to the station and write your letters."

Laramie shook his head: "I couldn't even get to the station by one
o'clock. Every man in Main Street wants to talk about Tom S