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Page 33
"But not after it. An' Buck now thinks the Rurales may have come
up in time to save him."
"Seems to me if that's so he has had time enough since then to
write," objected Polly, who was, nevertheless, impressed by Bud's
vehemence.
"How do you know that he has not written?"
Polly could only gasp. These accusations were coming too fast
for her to answer.
"You can't tell what a man might do in a case like that. Perhaps
Dick's 'way in the mountains, away from the railroad, prospectin'
down in the Ghost Range, where he has been tryin' to locate the
lost lode. There's lots of reasons for his not writing to Echo.
But Echo doesn't seem to mind. A year an' a half is enough to
mend any woman's heart."
"Now, you--" began Polly, who was growing angry under the charges
which were being heaped on her two best friends by the
overwrought boy.
Bud would not let her finish, but cried: "Echo never loved him.
If she did she would not be acting like she is goin' to
to-night."
Rushing to Echo's defense Polly answered: "She may or may not
have loved Dick Lane, but I know that she loves Jack Payson now
with all her heart and, even if the 'Paches did not get your
brother, he's as dead to her as if they had."
Polly was startled and confused by Bud's accusations.
Accordingly, it was a relief to her when Payson appeared on the
scene. They had been so interested in their conversation that
they did not hear him ride up to the house. "Hello, Polly!
Hello, Bud!" were his cordial greetings, for he was determined to
ignore his former employee's hostility. Bud did not answer, but
looked moodily on the ground.
To Eastern eyes Payson's wedding-attire would appear most
incongruous. About his waist was strapped a revolver. His
riding-trousers, close-fitting and corded, were buttoned over the
calves of his legs. Soft, highly polished leather boots reached
to his knees. His shirt was of silk, deeply embroidered down the
front and at the collar. His jacket gave him ample
breathing-room about the chest, but tapered at the waist and
clung closely over the hips. He wore a sombrero and a knotted
silk handkerchief. His face was deeply sunburned, except a spot
shaped like crescent just below the hairline on the forehead,
which was protected from the sun by the hat and the shade of the
brim. A similar line of fairer skin ran around the edge of the
scalp, beginning over the ears. His hair shaded the upper part
of his neck from the sun's rays. When his hair was trimmed the
untanned part showed as plainly as if painted. It is the mark of
the plainsman in a city or on a holiday.
"Well, it's about time that you got here," said Polly, with a
sigh of relief. "Where have you been?"
"I stopped over to Sam Terrill's to see about something that I
ordered from Kansas City. Then I had to go back to my ranch--"
Bud started guiltily. Forgetting his determination to ignore
Payson, he asked anxiously. "You didn't see Terrill, did you?"
"Oh, yes. Why do you ask?"
Polly laid her hand on Payson's arm and told him briefly of the
shooting of Terrill.
"Who shot him?" he asked, when she had finished.
"They don't know--he was robbed of a pile of money--Slim Hoover's
just rode over to get a posse," she replied, looking toward the
door. At this bit of information Payson became anxious about the
plans for his wedding. The ceremony was uppermost in his mind at
the time.
"Well, he can get one after the wedding." Then he asked: "Is
the minister here yet?"
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