ked him off the rail, catching
the slack cloth of his pants at the seat, holding him firmly gripped and
bending him across his padded lap. Despite Sam's kicks and squirms, he
paddled him unmercifully and then dropped him sprawling into the corral.

"I ain't done that to you, Sam Manning," he said sternly, "fo' five-six
years. An' you've got too all-fired fresh. Nex' time I'll do it in front
of Mirandy, you ornery, bow-laiged, hornin'-in son of a lizard."

Sam said nothing. His face, as he stooped somewhat painfully, was fiery
red. He took hold of a post to help himself up, pretending disability.
On the post a horsehair lariat hung from the snub of a lopped-off bough
of the tree that made the heavy stake. He fumbled with this while Mormon
shook with laughter like a great jelly. The next moment the lariat came
flying, circling, settled down over Mormon's head, over his body and
arms. Sam, working like a jumping-jack, took a quick turn, flung a coil
about Mormon's legs and in a few seconds, had him trussed helplessly to
the rail.

"Paddle me, you overgrown buzzard, will you? There you roost till
Mirandy comes to look for you."

Mormon pleaded and Sam pretended to be inflexible. At last they came to
a capitulation. Mormon promised to keep his hands off Sam, and the
latter vowed he would gibe no more about Mormon's matrimonial affairs,
past, present or future.

"An' don't _look_ nothin', neither," added Mormon as Joe glided into
sight and grunted his message.

"Grub piled. Squaw she say hurry."

For the life of him Sam could not resist a side glance of mirthful
suggestion at Miranda's tendency to issue orders. Mormon did not notice
it.

"There's room for five--supposed to be--in my car," said Miranda. "An'
there's four of us an' six to come back. The other car's in use. How we
goin' to manage it?"

"Mormon c'ud take the Nicholson party on his lap, if she ain't too
finicky," suggested Sam. This was hewing close to the line, and Mormon
glared at him while the spinster sniffed.

"Molly'll ride in with me," said Sandy. "I'm goin' over early on Pronto
an' take the white blazed bay along that Molly rode over the Goats'
Pass."

"Ride in?"

"She wrote she was jest waitin' fo' the minute she c'ud climb into a
real saddle, astride a range-bred hawss," said Sandy.

"She won't be dressed for it, travelin' on the train," said Mirandy.

"I've got a hunch she will," Sandy answered simply. "They got their own
private car.